


Wherever Destiny Takes Me

by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, First Kiss, John Watson in Afghanistan, M/M, Military Backstory, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyholic/pseuds/justacookieofacumberbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John should have let go. He should have thanked Sholto for catching him and moved on. And never spoken of it again. But instead, he kept his hands on his commanding officer. He glanced up at Sholto, but his face was inscrutable. So John looked back at the hand gripping Sholto's bicep. A tattoo peeked from below the sleeve of Sholto's t-shirt. John cocked his head and pushed up the sleeve with his thumb. Sholto crossed his free hand between them and pushed his sleeve to his shoulder, revealing a number nine with Quo Fata Vocant in an arc above."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whisky Tango Foxtrot

“Echo-three-one-alpha, this is echo-one-one, over.”

John keyed up the mic on his radio. “Echo-three-one-alpha, send, over.”

“We have two men coming in on MEDEVAC helicopter, heavy blood loss. Four more coming in on Humvee. Medics are requesting four units of blood . . .” John noted down the supplies as battalion rattled them off. Damage from shrapnel, second and third degree burns, one of the men on the chopper had a collapsed lung.

“Roger, out.” John handed off the list of supplies to his sergeant and pulled an apron over his head. “I’ll take the collapsed lung. You take the other man on the copter. He’ll be needing blood, type A-positive. Prep saline, too. Four more coming in on Humvee. Delegate those. I’ll assist where I can.”

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied and moved out. John pulled the supplies not on the list that they were sure to need from the cabinets--gauze, tourniquets, wire brushes for shrapnel, saline--and handed them off to the medics. He pulled out a chest tube kit for himself and scrubbed up.

He ran out from the field hospital as the helicopter landed. John and the medic on the bird rushed their man into the tent on his stretcher and set him on a table. Labored breathing. Ashen skin. John cut into the man's chest. He placed the chest tube and clear, reddish fluid ran out. The man's breathing eased. Color came back to his face. Abdomen soft. No concerning contusions.

John patched the wound in the man's chest. He was stable enough, so he called over a medic to finish. He stripped his apron and gloves and washed up for the next round of patients.

As he ran out, Major Sholto was halfway to the building, dragging a limping man next to him. John propped himself under the soldier's other arm and helped the Major carry him in. They sat the injured man on a table. He was conscious, but--John checked his eyes--concussed. John could barely get a response. He turned to ask Major Sholto what happened, but he was already gone.

John popped a cold pack for the soldier and ordered one of his medics to scrub the shrapnel from his body. "Don't let him fall asleep. Call me if his condition changes."

"Yes, sir."

John spied movement in the corner of his eye and spun to face it. Major Sholto helped another man onto a table. Similar injuries to the other. Pupils responded unevenly, but John was able to get the name of this one. When he asked what happened, the soldier just said, "IED," and puked. This was why John wore an apron. He got the soldier a bed pan and stripped yet another apron and pair of gloves.

As John turned to throw on a new apron, Sholto helped another unharmed soldier bring in yet another patient. John assured that the puking patient had a medic to treat his injuries and grabbed his last available medic for this last patient. This one was similar to the others. Shrapnel and a mild concussion. The medic got to work as John took a mental inventory of the damage.

The collapsed lung was stable, and a medic was finishing up with his minor injuries. John checked on his sergeant and the medics assisting; the major bleeds were stopped, but he would have to be transferred out to Camp Bastion. John radioed it in, and his men loaded the soldier back onto the helicopter. Three medics were working on three patients with more minor injuries as the major stood a few steps from John. But there were supposed to be four coming in on the Humvee.

John closed the few steps between him and Sholto. "Where's my fourth patient, Sir?"

"All the patients are here, Captain." Sholto turned toward Watson, and that's when he finally noticed what was wrong with Sholto's uniform. The right leg of his trousers was ripped to shreds and embedded with shrapnel. The dark red patches on the uniform didn’t appear to be getting larger, so he must have been like this long enough for the bleeding to stop. John couldn't believe he hadn't noticed them earlier, even in the bustle. Sholto should have been having trouble walking, not carrying fully grown men with fifty pounds of gear on.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"My injuries are minor, and your men are all occupied," Sholto retorted as if there weren't countless pieces of glass and jagged metal protruding from his arm and leg.

John pointed to an exam table nearby and commanded, "Sit.” He scrubbed up and grabbed a wire brush, suture kit, scissors, and bandages as Sholto sat down. John brought over his supplies and laid them out by the Major. Pupillary reaction normal.

“Latex allergy?” John asked before putting on his gloves.

“No."

“What’s your name?” John cut away Sholto’s sleeve.

“James Sholto.”

“What did you have for lunch?” John held Sholto’s wrist still in his right hand and scrubbed at the shrapnel with his left.

“Ration pack.” Definitely no concussion, and a respectable tolerance for pain. Shrapnel removal was notorious for being painful. The other three men were grunting through clenched teeth as their fresh wounds were scoured clean. But Sholto looked as if nothing was happening, his face stony.

“What happened?” John asked as he cleared the last of the shrapnel from Sholto’s arm and kneeled by his foot to cut a slit up his trouser leg.

“IED. The lead vehicle hit it with the back right tire.” John reached the top of Sholto’s trousers and cut across until he could lift the fabric away like a flap.

“Was it an ambush?” John gripped Sholto’s knee and scrubbed the wounds on his thigh. Sholto’s knee pushed up against John’s hand, his muscles clenching at the pain. “Try to relax.”

“No,” Sholto answered the question, “it was probably a poppy farmer trying to keep us away. We’ll investigate tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it. You need to rest. Any strenuous physical activity will pop your sutures.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

John shined a light on Sholto’s thigh and rinsed the wounds with saline. As he sutured the worst of the gashes, he attempted to make small talk. He didn’t expect to be successful; Sholto wasn’t exactly known to be friendly. Sholto’s answers to John’s questions were short and to the point, but he did seem interested in what John had to say in return.

Once John was finished bandaging Sholto’s wounds, he checked the major’s dexterity and his ability to carry weight on his leg. They both seemed okay, but after watching him endure the wire brush, John couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just looking at a stoic man refusing to show weakness. He helped Sholto get down to his t-shirt and pants, setting aside the boots and vest. He tossed the uniform and blood-spotted supplies into the bio-hazard bin and returned to his spot by the table.

“I’ll have a private fetch you a fresh uniform,” John said as he leaned over to check the red dog tag hanging with the other two. Penicillin allergy. “Unless you’d like to hang out in a hospital gown.”

Sholto chuckled. “I’ll take the uniform.”

 

At the briefing the next morning, John viewed his major with renewed interest. Sholto strode assuredly into the room. There was not a hint of a limp in his stride, though John knew his leg must have ached. He set a metal storage clipboard on the podium and pulled a stack of paper from within. Sholto dragged a finger across his tongue before flipping a page in his notes. His icy blues eyes scanned each page quickly before he wetted his finger again to turn the page. When he was ready to start the briefing, he snapped the paper to the clipboard and straightened his uniform, silencing the room with a clearing of his throat. He gave a perfunctory run-down of the reminders from the regiment or the battalion, reminders that he was required to read, but ones that he and all the sergeants in the room knew were a waste of their time.

Sholto took reports from the platoon sergeants and lieutenants, and John gave his report on which sick and injured soldiers were ready to return to duty. Sholto went over their assigned patrols and missions and dismissed them all to roll call. He made no mention of the possible poppy farm.

As John sat down to eat in the mess hall that night, he spotted Sholto eating alone at a table in the far corner. He sat with his back to the wall and surveyed the room, watching passively as the other soldiers socialized. John let the conversation of the second lieutenants at his table fall on his ears as he watched the major eat. They bragged about all the girls they had fucked back home, stories that they had all told several times, that grew more lurid with every telling, some of which contained anatomical impossibilities.

Sholto surveyed the tent. He watched the soldiers file in and out. His eyes flitted from table to table, landing on John just as John took a large bite of beef ravioli. John felt a smile pull on the corner of his mouth as he attempted to chew. Sholto nodded once, and John nodded in return.

John's focus was brought back to the table by a rather ridiculous comment regarding the location of the clitoris. Time for these boys to learn a thing or two. "All right, lads. Let me tell you a story," he started and elaborated only slightly on the story of an American girl he took home just before this deployment. Finally, the one-pips shut up, and John could go back to eating in peace.

When John looked back up, Sholto was watching something, a crooked little smirk on his face. John followed his gaze to a group of soldiers huddled around a portable DVD player. He could only assume from the hoots and hollers that these gentlemen were watching porn, likely from a street vendor, unless someone was lucky enough to get one in a care package. But then, a collective call of disgust came from the crowd and the soldier closest to the player slammed it shut. A street vendor it was. Probably a chick with a dick, which was practically a rite of passage in this place. John looked back at Major Sholto as the soldiers dissipated. The major's shoulders shook with restrained laughter, and John felt his own bubble to the surface.

 

When Sholto came into the field hospital on Sunday to have his bandages changed, John leap-frogged the medic who greeted him. He saluted and led him to a metal folding chair, setting a matching one to his side. He prepped himself and his supplies as Sholto rolled up his sleeves; he sat in the empty chair, and peeled back the bandage on Sholto’s arm. The deepest wounds still oozed a bit, but there was no sign of infection. John cleaned the wounds and replaced the bandages.

"Did you find the poppies yet?" John asked as he scooted the chair toward Sholto's knee. “Trousers off, please."

"No," Sholto sighed as he pulled down the trousers and sat back down, "chain of command decided we should re-con with drones instead of driving back out there."

"That's probably for the best." John peeled back the bandage on Sholto's thigh. A suture or two looked a bit stressed.

“Yes, though I’m eager to go get the bastards.”

“Illegitimis non carborundum.” John pointed to the sutures. “Be careful with these.” Sholto nodded.

John finished cleaning Sholto’s thigh and adhered a new bandage to the skin. “I think we’re all done here. The sutures in your arm will be ready to take out soon. Come back Tuesday or Wednesday, and we'll have a look.”

John scooted back his chair and walked the used bandages to the bin as Sholto put back on his trousers. “Thank you, Captain,” Sholto said with a clap on John’s back. He gave John's shoulder a squeeze before striding from the tent, and John did a commendable job of ignoring the skip in his heartbeat.

 

John dragged himself back to the barracks in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. A medic on the night watch had dragged him out of bed hours ago. He still wore his pajamas, a brown t-shirt and a pair of PT shorts, with his windbreaker over it. As he approached Sholto’s room, his feet slowed. A square of grey light illuminated the hallway. John stopped opposite the empty doorway to see Sholto’s face lit by the diffuse reflection of his torch off the pages of a thick book. The major’s cot was pushed up against the wall opposite the door, and he sat facing the hallway, his back against the wall and bare feet splayed wide on the floor. His choice of pajamas was similar to John's, a brown t-shirt and boxer shorts. Sholto bit the end of his torch between his bicuspids and turned a page.

Then Sholto took the torch back out of his mouth and said, “In or out, Captain.”

John flinched. He checked up and down the hallway; he didn’t know for what. He just knew that simple statement made his heart jump. He set his jaw and strode into the room. “I know why I’m up at this ungodly hour, sir, but why are you?” He asked as he sank to the floor by the doorway. He leaned back against the wall and propped his forearms on his bent knees.

Sholto just shrugged and kept reading. John looked around the spartan room. John’s bunkmate had a handful of pages from Playboys and a few more pictures of his girlfriend in the nude tacked to the wall, but Sholto had nothing that could be considered decoration.

“It must be nice to have a room to yourself,” John said.

“Must be one of the perks of being an insufferable arsehole,” Sholto returned without looking up from his book. John laughed, earning him a raised eyebrow and a sidelong glance.

“What are you reading?”

“You don’t need to feel obligated to fill the silence, Watson.”

John watched Sholto read and tried not to fall asleep, but he quickly got fed up. “Right,” he broke in, and leaned forward to stand. Sholto let his hand with the light fall to his lap, inadvertently illuminating the dark red patch on his bandage. John tried not to huff. It didn’t look like he was going to bed after all. “You’ve torn your sutures, Sir.”

Sholto look down at the bandage. “So I have,” he replied and went back to his book. John grabbed Sholto’s windbreaker from the back of a chair and held it out for him.

“And just what is that for?” Sholto asked as he slammed the book shut.

“It’s the desert. It gets cold at night. Especially if you’re walking around in your pants.”

“It can wait until morning, Captain,” Sholto insisted. He slid a finger back between the book pages and flipped back to his place with amazing accuracy.

“No, it won’t. You’re coming with me now, doctor's orders.”

Sholto hesitated, but a smile played on his lips instead of a scowl. After a moment, he grabbed the jacket from John and shrugged it on. He slipped on a pair of shower shoes and dropped his side arm in his jacket pocket. "Lead the way.”

John strode toward the medical tent at an assured pace, but one slower than he would usually take. He knew that Sholto would refuse any assistance in walking, but he didn't want to mangle the stitches any more than they had already been.

When they arrived at the proper tent, John sat Sholto on a metal folding chair in a small alcove next to a supply cabinet. He shed his jacket, scrubbed up, and put on gloves. He unloaded supplies and set them up on a tray--disinfectant, needle and thread, tweezers, scissors, fresh bandages, saline, local anesthetic. He metered out the anesthetic and set it next to the other supplies on the tray. He rolled the tray over and positioned his goose neck lamp near the wound. Finally, he sat in a matching metal chair across from Sholto and pushed up the leg of his boxers enough to peel away the sodden bandage. Sholto leaned forward to watch as John cleaned the wound.

No sign of infection. Good. Some tearing of the skin around the sutures. “I’m going to have to cut some of this skin away.”

Hair tickled John as it swept up and down against his forehead. “Major,” he said as he leaned up, the other man mirroring, “you don’t need to hover. This is fairly routine. I think I have it under control.”

Sholto blinked at him a few times before responding, “Very well, Captain.” He settled back into the chair, propping his hands on his knees.

John tapped the back of Sholto’s right wrist with his knuckle. “This has to go, too.”

Sholto dropped the hand to his side. He looked strangely lopsided, and John found himself struggling to contain a smirk as he injected the anesthetic.

“That’ll take a minute to kick in,” John said. He got a nod in return. “What book were you reading?”

“The final Harry Potter,” he informed.

A single laugh burst from John’s mouth. “What, seriously?”

“Is that a problem, Captain?”

“No,” John insisted, “but it’s surprising. I thought you were going to say _Crime and Punishment_ or _War and Peace._ ” John pressed at the skin around the torn stitches. “Can you feel that?”

“No.”

John clipped away the ragged skin and set it aside. He lined up the first stitch and threaded the needle in and out.

"Have you heard anything about the gunner?" Sholto asked.

John finished the first stitch and started the second. That must have been the man they sent to Camp Bastion. "He had to go into surgery for an internal bleed. The last report I had was that he was stable."

"How old is that report?"

"Three days." John clipped the end of the second stitch.

"Get me an update on that, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

John finished the last two stitches. Finally, he pressed a clean bandage on Sholto’s thigh and pulled the leg of the boxer shorts back into place.

"That should do it, sir," John said as he snapped off his gloves and pressed himself to a standing position. "I suppose it would be a waste of my time to tell you to take it easy so you won't pop those sutures again."

Sholto leaned back in his chair, boxing John in with his knees. He really should have put these chairs just a bit farther apart. "I believe it would be."

"Then I won't." John reached out a hand to help the major to his feet and was surprised when the stoic Sholto took it. Sholto pulled himself up so quickly that John teetered back and forth, held upright by the strong grip on his fist, which John yanked to his chest. John’s other hand flew out to steady himself on Sholto’s arm. “Shit,” he whispered as his weight finally equalized and he found himself in remarkably close proximity to his commanding officer. His heart thrummed in his chest, and his mouth went dry.

John should have let go. He should have thanked Sholto for catching him and moved on. And never spoken of it again. But instead, he kept his hands on his commanding officer. He glanced up at Sholto, but his face was inscrutable. So John looked back at the hand gripping Sholto's bicep. A tattoo peeked from below the sleeve of Sholto's t-shirt. John cocked his head and pushed up the sleeve with his thumb. Sholto crossed his free hand between them and pushed his sleeve to his shoulder, revealing a number nine with _Quo Fata Vocant_ in an arc above.

John started at Sholto's voice. "I got it when I was still enlisted." John nodded and swallowed hard, trying to bring some moisture back to his mouth. When he looked back at the tattoo, he was mortified to discover his thumb tracing the ridge of ink back and forth on the bottom of the nine.

John cleared his throat and finally dropped his hand to his side, but Sholto's grip on his fist was steadfast. No, that was John doing that. He was still pressing the back of Sholto's hand to his heart. Why couldn't he get his limbs under control? John looked up to see Sholto scrutinizing his face. "All right, Captain?"

John pulled himself away from Sholto and took a step back, the back of his knees hitting the chair behind him. _That went well._ John looked to his side, carefully avoiding making eye contact with any part of Sholto. He nodded and cleared his throat again as he moved the chair from behind him and stepped away. He tried not to notice Sholto's gaze still on him.

"Yes, sir," John replied as he hastily cleared away the used supplies. "I apologize. That won't happen again." He prepped the reusable instruments for sanitization, and then trotted the bio-hazard waste to the proper bin. When he turned, Sholto was already back in his jacket, zipped to his throat. His face was still, composed.

"Come back in the morning," John suggested as he busied himself with washing his hands. "The sutures in your arm should be ready to come out. I'll try to have that update for you."

"Wilco," Sholto replied. John shook the water from his hands and dried them with a paper towel.

"I don't suppose you'll be needing any help back to the barracks?"

Sholto frowned, but nodded. "No, thank you, Watson."

John nodded in return. "Very well. I'll be heading back then."

John strode back to the barracks without a pause or a stumble. He didn't look back to see if Sholto followed, but as he hung up his jacket in his room, he could hear the slapping of shower shoes on bare feet in the hallway. John settled onto his cot and tried not to think of the man just a few rooms down getting ready for bed, pulling his jacket from his shoulders, leaning over to tuck his shower shoes under the cot. John pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and tried to shake the images from his brain. He surveyed the pictures tacked to the wall above the cot across the room. The light was too dim to see more than indistinct shapes, but he had viewed those pictures enough times to know which was which. He thought of his favorite, the woman lying on the floor, her legs open with nothing but a blanket held in her fist between her legs. He liked to imagine he caught her touching herself, and then she would invite him to help her finish. Finally, as visions of nude women danced in his head, he fell asleep.


	2. Situation Normal: All Fucked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As if on cue, Major Sholto strode from the showers, a towel slung across his hips, his chest glistening with water. His dogs tags shifted and clinked against him as he walked. He was so fit. Of course, their jobs were physically demanding and their food was shitty and everyone in the camp was in good shape. But good God, Sholto was fit. Like he was cut out of fucking marble. John tucked his boots under the bench and turned around to face the bench before his gaze could be caught doing something he didn't want it to. As he undid the buttons on his shirt, he heard the major say behind him, 'Good evening, Captain.'"

John woke with a start to sound of shouts in the hallway. Usually he woke up on his own, but not that morning. He doubted he completed even one REM cycle. He stretched the stiffness from his muscles and pulled on his uniform while his roommate snored away. Rat bastard could sleep through anything. He'd probably have missed roll call every morning if John wasn't there to wake him up. He was a fucking first lieutenant for God's sake. What kind of example was he to his platoon? John laced up his boots, and on his way out of the room, he kicked the soldier's cot and yelled, "Oi! Wake up."  
  
John marched for the exit and smirked as he heard the word, "Tosser," muttered behind him. Sholto emerged from his doorway, fastening his watch, and turned down the hallway. John's pace faltered for a moment as his heart jumped at the sight. _Keep it together, soldier._  They both joined the mass of soldiers walking to breakfast, and John ended up a few soldiers behind him in the line.   
  
He was thankful for the brief reprieve. He was too exhausted to think about what happened the night before, and he needed some time--and some food and coffee--to figure out how he was going to handle it. He picked up some scrambled eggs and toast and grabbed a bottle of water. He drummed his fingers on his tray as he waited impatiently for the line to move forward. Damn it; he needed coffee. He peered down the line to see what the hold up was, but instead he spotted Sholto filling a paper cup with coffee. His hand wrapped delicately around the cup as he started the flow of coffee with a firm flick of the plastic lever. John felt a jab at his shoulder and spun on the soldier behind him.  
  
"Wh-" he started, but the soldier nodded past him and pointed. John turned to see that the line had moved. He rejoined the queue and rubbed his hands across his eyes. Fuck, he needed coffee. And he either needed to figure out this thing with Sholto or stop letting it distract him.  
  
Maybe he could just play it off as simple curiosity about the tattoo. That's all it was, right? John filled his own cup of coffee to the brim and filed over to the table where his sergeant and two of his medics sat. As he sat down, he fished out a notepad and pen from his pocket and slurped the first hot sip from his coffee. They went over the information he would need for that morning's briefing--supplies needed, duty status, etc. John jotted down the name of the gunner from Sholto's Humvee on a fresh page, ripped it out, and handed it to his sergeant. "Radio down to Camp Bastion this morning and get me an update on this soldier."  
  
His sergeant checked the paper and tucked it in his breast pocket. "Yes, Sir."  
  
With the shop talk done and nothing but chalky scrambled eggs, burnt coffee, and margarine-covered toast to distract him, John's gaze settled on Sholto's usual corner. Sholto's mood had taken a turn. He scowled at the papers from his clipboard while he shoveled eggs into his mouth. Each piece of paper whipped back at Sholto as he flipped them over, his jaw clenching as he read. Finally, he flipped the last page and slammed them all back into the clipboard's compartment. He looked up from his plate and ran his fingers roughly through his hair. John looked down and carefully contemplated each bit of scrambled eggs as he collected them on his fork. It wouldn't do to be caught staring, not today.  
  
John felt the air shift as Sholto strode past him. He held the clipboard tucked under his arm as he dumped most of his breakfast in the trash and hoofed it out of the tent. John felt the overwhelming urge to follow him, to find out what was wrong. But it was better to stay and finish his breakfast and let whatever it was blow over.  
  
Sholto was more terse than usual at the morning briefing. John listened for bad news, but nothing in the briefing seemed unusual. It was just the usual list of regimental reminders and patrol assignments. Sholto dragged his finger across his tongue and flipped to the last page of his notes. As he clasped his hand over the edge of the podium, the sleeve of his uniform rode up, and he tugged it back in place. His uniform was always pristine, boots free from dirt, and not a wrinkle to be found on his clothes. Sholto clicked the end of a pen and wrote something on his clipboard as one of the lieutenants gave a report. The back of his shirt pulled up as he leaned over the podium. As he stood upright to call on another lieutenant, he smoothed his shirt back into place under his trousers, his hand grazing his buttocks then his thigh as he brought it back forward. Then he propped a foot on the base of the podium, pulling his uniform tight against his leg. And his arse. John found something oddly appealing about the curvature of his arse.  
  
"Captain Watson?" John snapped upright in his chair. Fuck.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Any time."  
  
"Of course." John fished the notepad from his pocket again and ran down his portion of the briefing. Finally, Sholto dismissed them all to roll call.  
  
When John arrived at the field hospital, his sergeant was already on the horn to Camp Bastion. He got the updates from the medics working overnight and dismissed them. John checked on the sick soldier from the night before. He'd contracted a nasty strain of staph and had spiked a fever when John was called out of bed. John checked the soldier's vitals and jotted a note on his pad. Then he walked it over to his sergeant, still on the radio. "Order transport to Bastion for LC Jones," it read. He turned toward the entrance to see Sholto waiting, his vest and kevlar already on and his rifle slung across his shoulder. Time to face the music. John straightened his uniform and marched over.  
  
"Good morning, sir," John said with a salute.  
  
Sholto returned it. "Good morning, Captain. I have half an hour before my patrol leaves."  
  
"Of course, please," John returned. He started to gesture toward the same alcove from the night before but quickly corrected to a more open area. But Sholto set aside his rifle and sat in the alcove anyway. That meant he wanted privacy. Shit. Sholto unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and started to roll up the sleeves.  
  
Of course. The stitches. John quickly scrubbed his hands, put on a pair of gloves, and got out tweezers and a pair of scissors. He peeled away the bandage and set it aside. No swelling. Skin cool to the touch. John pressed at the edges of the stitches. "Is that tender?"  
  
"No," Sholto replied. John hazarded a glance at his eyes, which watched him impassively.  
  
John grabbed the scissors. "Well, let's take these out then, shall we?"  
  
He slid the scissors against Sholto's arm and under each stitch, clipping them as he went. He set the scissors aside and picked up the tweezers. Sholto still said nothing about the night before, or at all, and John debated whether or not to say something as he pulled the stitches free.  
  
"About last night, Major," he finally chimed as the last stitch came out.  
  
"It's nothing, Captain."  
  
"Oh," John paused. "Right. Well, there we go." He paused again. He should have felt relieved. So why was he still nervous? His tongue swiped across his bottom lip. "How are the stitches feeling on your leg?" John asked, dropping his hand on Sholto's knee and then quickly dropping it to his side. He stood and threw the spent stitches and bandage in the bin.  
  
"Good. Thank you," Sholto replied as he stood and started rolling back down his sleeve.  
  
"Good. Come back in a few days, and we'll check them out."  
  
"Wilco, Captain," Sholto returned as he buttoned his cuff, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. John found himself returning the smile as Sholto slung the rifle back over his shoulder.  
  
John stepped aside and gestured for Sholto to walk by. His major clapped him on the shoulder as he walked away, and John watched the opening of the tent for several seconds even after Sholto stepped out. He didn't understand what just happened.  
  
"I have the information for you, sir," John heard from behind him. John spun and took the notes from his sergeant. He smiled as he took a quick survey of what the sergeant had written.  
  
"Thank you, Sergeant. As you were."

  
  
  
"Good evening, sir," John said as he set his tray on the corner of Sholto's table. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the note his sergeant had given him that morning. "I have an update on your gunner."  
  
"Thank you, Captain. Go ahead."  
  
"They sent him to Birmingham. All things considered, he's in good shape. I have some more details here if you want them," John reported, facing the writing towards Major Sholto.  
  
"Yes, thank you," Sholto replied and took the paper from John's hand. "Please, sit."  
  
Sholto ate and read the report as John slid into the seat across. "Eight weeks recovery. Not as bad as I expected," Sholto said.  
  
"Just in time to go on leave with the rest of us. I'm sure he'll need it."  
  
Sholto nodded and folded the paper from John's pocket before sliding it across the table. John put the paper back in his uniform. He took a large gulp of water and watched Sholto eat for a moment before digging into his own plate.  
  
"Do you have any plans for our triumphant return?" John asked.  
  
Sholto stabbed a pile of beans with his fork. "Christmas."  
  
"Spending it with your family?"  
  
"Probably not."  
  
"Me neither." John scooped a bite of beans into his mouth and poked at what he assumed to be meatloaf as he chewed. He shifted in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee, kicking Sholto in the process. "Sorry."  
  
"It's OK," Sholto replied, his tongue darting out to lick a bit of sauce from his mouth. "Will you be spending Christmas with your girlfriend, then?"  
  
"No. I'm on my own."  
  
Sholto leaned back in his chair and wiped his palms on his trousers. "Huh," or was it 'Ha'? "Now, I find that surprising, Watson. With your reputation."  
  
John's lips quirked into a smile even as he cringed. "Don't believe everything you hear, Boss."  
  
Sholto smiled as he settled back towards the table to continue his meal. He took a bite of meatloaf and chewed it with a stony expression. "That tastes like shit."  
  
John nodded as he cut into his with his fork. "What about you? Have anyone to come home to?"  
  
"No," Sholto replied. "I'm on my own, like you."  
  
"Fine. Good," John paused at the extra word. "Fine."  
  
John concentrated on eating his meal, as if getting beans on a fork was an all-consuming task. Silence stretched on between them, though Sholto did not seem bothered by it. John felt Sholto's boot nudge his and then retreat. Sholto didn't comment on it. It could have been an accident, or maybe Sholto was trying to get his attention. Either way, the silence was making John tense, and he couldn't take it anymore.  
  
"Major, this morning, you seemed like something was bothering you," he ventured.  
  
"You noticed that, did you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I was."  
  
"Oh," John paused, waiting for Sholto to elaborate. When he didn't, John continued, "Do you want to tell me why?"  
  
Sholto leaned back in his chair narrowed his eyes at John, inspecting him. "All right." He sat back up and leaned forward over his tray, slicing into his meatloaf with his fork. "The IED we hit was near a poppy farm, just like I thought, but the Americans already had intel on it, and they're going to do the raid."  
  
"Isn't that a good thing?"  
  
"I've come around to that thinking. But I wanted to be there."  
  
"I see." John paused. "Revenge?"  
  
Sholto cringed. "Not exactly."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"I don't know." Sholto sat back in his chair again and rubbed his hand over his face. "I just wanted to be able to do this for my men. This probably ended my gunner's career. It would be nice to be able to go home and tell him that we got the sons of bitches."  
  
John nodded. He couldn't think of any more to say, so they finished their meals with just the din of the mess hall to keep them company. The major finished his meal more quickly than John, each bite a precise, ordered process until his tray was clean. He stood so quickly that John started. "Captain," he said with a nod.  
  
John nodded in return and replied, "Sir," as Sholto strode to the wash station.  
  
  
John was feeling good as he strolled toward the shower tent. Everyone from the Humvee hit by the IED was recovering nicely, and it was nice to know that the people who hurt them were about to get theirs. The soldier with staph had a smooth transfer to Camp Bastion. And his snafu with Major Sholto blew over a lot more easily than he thought it would.  
  
John lifted the flap on the shower tent and walked in, dropping his pajamas, sponge bag, and towel on the bench just inside. There was only one other set of clothes on the bench. It looked like he timed it just right. He could have a nice, peaceful, quiet shower instead of having to wait on a cubicle or have to listen to a bunch of rowdy soldiers yelling back and forth to each other.  
  
He sat on the bench and unlaced his boots. The clothes next to him were folded neatly in two piles, a brown t-shirt at the top of one and a battle dress shirt with a crown rank insignia on the front on top of the other. It could have been another major, but John couldn't help but wonder. And picture water sluicing over bare skin.  
  
As if on cue, Major Sholto strode from the showers, a towel slung across his hips, his chest glistening with water. His dogs tags shifted and clinked against him as he walked. He was so fit. Of course, their jobs were physically demanding and their food was shitty and everyone in the camp was in good shape. But good God, Sholto was fit. Like he was cut out of fucking marble. John tucked his boots under the bench and turned around to face the bench before his gaze could be caught doing something he didn't want it to. As he undid the buttons on his shirt, he heard the major say behind him, "Good evening, Captain."  
  
"Good evening, Sir," John replied. _Don't look at him._  There was no reason to look. He just needed to get out of his uniform and into the shower. He tried to ignore the rustling next to him and the shift of air as Sholto unwrapped the towel from his waist and pulled on his boxers. John assumed. He wasn't watching. He didn't see a flash of thigh in his peripheral vision, paler than his face or hands, or even his chest.  
  
John draped his shirt over the bench and unfastened his trousers. Sholto pulled his t-shirt on over his head, tugging the fabric over his lean abdomen. John glanced over to see Sholto pulling the last bit of tangled t-shirt over the dip in the small of his back, where the journey of a single drop of water captured John's attention.  _Don't look at him. Don't make things worse._ John pulled his trousers down and kicked them off before draping them over his shirt.  
  
"Good night, Captain," Sholto said, and John finally looked at him. His skin was still damp under his t-shirt, making it cling to his chest. Sholto's gaze flitted down to John's t-shirt and back to his face. God, he was fit.  
  
"Good night, Sir," John returned. Sholto threw his towel over his shoulder and tucked his uniform and sponge bag under his arm. He leaned over and picked up his boots, his boxers clinging to his buttocks. Firm, muscular buttocks that John did not check out.  
  
John breathed a sigh of relief as the flap closed after the major and quickly stripped the rest of his clothes. He wrapped his towel around his waist as he slipped on his shower shoes and headed to a cubicle. For once, he was thankful when the water ended up being cold.  
  
  
  
Strong hands pressed against his face, warm, rough palms against his cheeks. Fingers tangled in his hair, kneading at his scalp. John leaned into the touch as goosebumps raised on the nape of his neck and ran his hands over the coarse hair on the arms of the man holding him. He opened his eyes to icy blue ones staring into his. John's breath hitched. God, that stare was intense. It was practically pornographic all on its own, as if John could see all the things Sholto wanted to do to him swimming in his dilated pupils.  
  
The man blinked; his gaze darted down to John's lips, and John's eyes followed suit. Sholto's mouth was open, his breath coming in shallow pants. He pressed his lips together, and his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as Sholto slowly closed the distance between them. John's heart beat wildly. His mouth was dry, his breathing shallow, and something twisted in his gut. John felt his back press against a wall, and Sholto's arms were flush with his body. His face mere centimeters away. John couldn't take his eyes of that mouth. So close. So tantalizingly close.  
  
"All right, Captain?" Sholto asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.  
  
John nodded in Sholto's grip, and finally Sholto's lips were on his. The kiss was hard and rough. Sholto's tongue was insistent as his lips dragged against John's. John moaned into the other man's mouth. He gripped Sholto's biceps and leveraged himself on his toes to get as close as he could. Fuck, this was good. Rough and hard and fast, and oh God, that was Sholto's hand on his arse, kneading, squeezing, pressing their groins together.  
  
John whined as Sholto broke the kiss until suddenly, Sholto was sucking at his neck, teeth grazing, nibbling, biting. John's hand flew into his hair, urging him on. "God, that's good."  
  
Sholto popped off John's neck and pressed tight against his body, pinning John against the wall. Sholto's erection was trapped between their bellies, and his own, throbbing, aching beneath it, pressed between Sholto's thighs. John dugs his fingers into Sholto's firm buttocks and thrust against him. "Shit," John hissed as a shiver ran through his body, and Sholto groaned in agreement.  
  
Sholto wrapped his arms tight around John's waist and went back to work on his neck. "Mine," he growled against John's neck, grazing his teeth against a fresh bruise. He slipped his hands under John's shirt and ran them up and down his back, his sides, settling on his hips and rocking their bodies together. "You're mine now."  
  
Sholto rocked roughly against him, his breath hot and fast on John's ear. He'd never experienced anything like this before. It was rough and dirty and maddeningly hot. If he'd had any blood left in his brain, he might have felt embarrassment that he was about to come in his pants. But it had been so long since he had been touched like this that he didn't care. Instead, he kept a tight grip on Sholto's arse and thrust against him with abandon.  
  
Sholto groaned into John's ear. "No objections, then, Watson?"  
  
"No," John huffed. God, he was so close. "No, sir."  
  
John woke from the dream, his cock rock hard and aching. "Fuck," he whispered and ran both hands roughly over his face. "Shit."  
  
He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but every time he shifted, a jolt went through his body. And those blue eyes haunted him, taunted him. It was quickly becoming clear that if he didn't want to wake up with a massive case of blue balls, he needed to take care of this.  
  
He huffed and rolled so he was facing away from his roommate and slipped his pants down his hips just enough to free his cock. As he wrapped his hand around it, he tried to conjure up images of the woman on the wall, of slipping a finger inside her and pressing his mouth to her mound, but he kept remembering another man's cock pressed against his belly and strong hands gripping his hips.  
  
Something else then. He thought of a particularly filthy sexual encounter that always worked for him before. A woman he met at a bar wanted him to fuck her up the ass. It was so tight, and she was so vocal. She pressed her ass up against him as he fucked her. He remembered how it felt slapping and sliding against his abdomen. So wonderfully dirty. He remembered her hand beneath her, rubbing vigorously at her clit. The way her muscles clenched when she came. He wondered if that was how Sholto's body would feel coming around him.  
  
Not that fantasy. Something else. He remembered his girlfriend at university riding him, the way she'd grab her boobs when they bounced too much, rubbing her clit with his thumb as her hips rolled against him. So warm and wet. Silky and smooth. Not rough like Sholto. Rough hands, rough lips, scratchy stubble against his neck. And a rough voice in his ear. And all that glorious friction of rough cotton against his prick.  
  
John came hard, muffling a strangled groan into his pillow. He wiped himself clean with a baby wipe and threw it in the bucket that held their trash. He flopped back down on his cot. Fuck. This was bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to emmagrant01 for the beta. And please note the increase in rating.


	3. Blue on Blue Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there they were again, hands clasped, bodies so close that they breathed the same air. Sholto's head was bowed, so his lips were eye-level with John, and John couldn't look away. Damn it, he was about to make a fool of himself again. Sholto's lips pressed together, and John felt his own tongue drag against his bottom lip before he could stop it.

John barely slept. He tossed and turned until finally, he gave up on sleep as the first light of false dawn filtered through the plastic covering his window. He quietly threw on a uniform, though his roommate would have snored on anyway. How anyone could have slept so soundly in a war zone, John would never understand. As he watched a morning breeze flutter against the plastic sheeting, he looped his sidearm through his belt and cinched it tight.  
  
He checked his watch. There was still a good hour and a half before the morning briefing. Perhaps a trip to the head and--he rubbed his hand against his stubbly cheeks--a proper shave were in order. He tucked his sponge bag under his arm and made his way for the exit. He couldn't resist the urge to peek at Sholto's sleeping form on the way. Sholto lay on his side, facing the door, and had his top arm tucked between his legs. An Army-issue blanket was tangled and crumpled at his feet. His t-shirt had ridden up, and a strip of bare skin peeked out above Sholto's arm.  
  
John snapped his eyes front and marched the last several yards to the exit. The air was still cool from the night and the recent onset of autumn, and it felt refreshing as it hit his face. After he made his pit stop at the head, he toted his sponge bag to the shower tent to have a shave at one of the sinks in the alcove. He hoped no one would be there. He needed some time by himself.  
  
When he arrived at the tent, he was disheartened to see a "Female in Shower" sign hanging from the entrance. He rubbed at his stubble. He shouldn't wait to shave. So, he waited until the woman finished up. A few people milled about, heading toward the head or the mess hall. One haggard-looking man walked in the direction of the field hospital, seeking a biff chit, no doubt. Finally, the woman lifted the flap on the tent and pulled down the sign.  
  
"All yours," she said.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
John ducked into the tent and walked the few steps to the sink, where he tossed his sponge bag. His hair stuck in wild directions, so he wetted his fingers and ran them through. It was probably time to get ahold of a pair of clippers. He lathered up his face and started shaving.  
  
He had just finished up one cheek and started on his mustache when he heard a loud boom. He turned his head toward the noise, razor still perched in his grip, and waited. A few seconds later, he heard a low whump, and the ground shuddered under his feet. Mortars.  
  
His razor clattered to the floor as he dropped everything and ran straight for the field hospital. People poured out of the barracks as he ran by. Another mortar flew overhead and landed behind him. He didn’t look to see where it landed, but he hoped it missed its mark. Oh God, please let it have been a miss. Nothing registered except the field hospital in the distance. Everything else was blurs of people running by and shouts muffled by the blood pumping in his ears.  
  
When he made it to the tent, only the two medics from the overnight shift were there. He pointed at the first medic. “You, get stretchers ready for the litter bears.” And to the second. “You get the other medics here right now, I mean hospital medics and combat medics, all of them, get them here now.”  
  
John readied supplies as he heard another whump, this one closer. A handful of medics ran through the door. John pointed to the supplies he had pulled out. “Get these ready.”  
  
John listened to the chatter on the radio. Three coming their way now. Two trapped under debris. He washed his hands and threw on a pair of gloves. “Oi," he yelled to the medics setting up, "hands, gloves, aprons, now! Patients incoming.”  
  
Two soldiers carried in the first injured soldier while a third pressed gauze to his leg. John directed them to a gurney, and once the patient was on it, the two carrying the cot ran out. The third stayed behind. John left him—one of the combat medics, good—to put pressure on the wound while he checked the patient. Unconscious but breathing. Airway clear. Pulse strong. John stabilized the patient’s neck. He ground a knuckle against the patient’s breastbone. He opened his eyes, cursed, and reached for his chest. Moderate brain injury. Contusions on the abdomen. Another mortar hit the camp.  
  
John switched places with the medic. “How much blood loss?"  
  
"I don't know, sir."  
  
"Go get some cold packs and some saline. Start an IV then get the cold packs on his head."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The medic scurried off as John started on the wound. He placed the tourniquet and had just placed the first clamp on a blood vessel when the medic returned to start the IV.  
  
"Vitals?" John asked the medic.  
  
"Fine." The medic started the IV and placed the cold packs as John finished placing the clamps.   
  
"Wake him up," John commanded the medic. John started to suture the blood vessels, and the medic rubbed the patient's sternum.  
  
"You doing all right, there, soldier?" John yelled over the din. Another boom shook the tent, much closer. John hoped it was return fire.  
  
"Hmmm," the patient replied. John released a clamp.  
  
"What's your name?" The patient tried to lift his head, but the medic held it still. "I need you to lay still for now. Can you do that for me?"  
  
"Ok," the patient murmured. John sutured another vessel.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Tommy."  
  
"OK, Tommy, can you tell me what happened?" Another vessel closed.  
  
"Dunno," Tommy slurred. "Something . . . fell."  
  
"OK. That's good, Tommy. That's good. Everything's going to be fine. Do you hear me?"   
  
"Hmmm," Tommy droned.  
  
"You hear me, soldier?"  
  
"Yessir."  
  
John released the last clamp and turned to the medic. "Finish up here."  
  
As John passed the entrance to the tent the ground quaked underneath him and a burning wave of pressure knocked him off his feet. He sat up, dazed, his ears ringing. His shook his head, trying to clear the chaotic fuzziness from it when he spotted a soldier on a stretcher just outside the entrance, his litter bears collapsed on top.  
  
He tried to stand, but he felt a strong pair of hands pulling at his arm. That's when he realized that one of his medics was shouting at him. John thought he was saying, "Are you OK?"  
  
"Fine," John shouted back, his voice sounding indistinct and far away. "Help them."  
  
He dragged in one of the litter bears, and checked his vitals. Nothing. "Grab me an AED and start rescue breathing," he shouted to a medic and could only hope the medic could hear him better than he could hear himself. John counted out the chest compressions. One, two, three, four. _Please live. Please live. For the love of God, please._

_Breathe. Breathe._  
  
The medic arrived with the defibrillator and started rescue breathing. John placed the electrodes and released the charge. Nothing. Again. Again. Please God.  
  
Again.  
  
Nothing. No pulse. No breathing.  
  
He had to move on.  
  
  
  
Several hours later, John sat with his back to the wall outside the barracks. He brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it with a match. As he shook the flame from the match head, he took in his first breath of smoke, holding it in even as his lungs and throat burned. He let out the smoke with a sigh as the nicotine calmed his nerves. One more drag, and his hands stopped shaking.  
  
"All right, Captain?"  
  
John squinted at the sunset behind Sholto's silhouette and held out a hand to block the light. "Fine, sir."  
  
Sholto walked over and took a space on the wall to the left of John. "Bullshit," he replied as he slid down the wall. He landed with a thump and wiped his hands on his trousers. John chuckled before taking another long drag from the cigarette. "Do you have another one of those?" He continued, pointing to John's cigarette.  
  
"No, I had to bum this one." John took another drag. "Do you-" he said on the inhale, holding out the cigarette.  
  
"Thanks." Sholto took it from between John's fingers. He smoked out of the side of his mouth, his lips pressing around the filter unevenly before drawing back to inhale. He handed the cigarette back, and John's fingertips grazed the back of his hand as he took it. "Doesn't it set a bad example for a doctor to be smoking?"  
  
John took another drag and handed it back. "I was hoping to be alone."  
  
"Sorry to ruin it."  
  
"You didn't." John waited until Sholto had passed the cigarette back before he asked. "Did we at least get the bastards?"  
  
"Yep," Sholto simply replied. "All four of them."  
  
John laughed wryly. "I guess that's tit for tat, then." Sholto nodded and took the cigarette back again. "God, it's like death by a thousand tiny papercuts."  
  
"That's certainly their intent."  
  
"You'd think it would get easier at some point."  
  
"What, war?"  
  
"Yes, but today. All those men, and we couldn't save all of them. And what do you say? I'm sorry, we couldn't save your son because he wasn't bleeding to death as quickly as someone else."  
  
"I hope it doesn't get easier."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"I don't think you'd like the person who found it easy to see someone die. Or who found the compromises of war acceptable."  
  
"No, you're right." John took one last drag from the cigarette and clenched his teeth as he ground out the butt in the dirt. He dropped his hands and made tracks in the dirt with his fingertips until they rested at his sides. He tried not to notice his commanding officer's hand barely a centimeter away. Or the clench in his chest when he realized just how comforting it would be to reach out and hold it.  
  
John turned his head to face the major and watched him watch the sunset. "It's a nice sunset," John commented.  
  
Sholto nodded and glanced at John and then quickly looked back again. "Watson," he started, "do you only have one half of your face shaved?"  
  
John burst into laughter as he felt the two distinct lengths of stubble on his face. "I guess I do."  
  
"It's a good look," Sholto said with a smirk. "I suppose we can excuse it just this once."  
  
"Thank you," John joked. "That's very generous of you, sir."  
  
Both men sighed as the laughter faded, and they sat in silence as the landscape slowly darkened around them. "Well," Sholto interjected as he pressed himself to standing and brushed the dirt from his butt, "thanks for the fag, Captain. I'm heading for chow." He turned to John. "Have you eaten?"  
  
"No."  
  
Sholto offered a hand. "Let's go, then."  
  
John took the hand and let Sholto pull him up. And there they were again, hands clasped, bodies so close that they breathed the same air. Sholto's head was bowed, so his lips were eye-level with John, and John couldn't look away. Damn it, he was about to make a fool of himself again. Sholto's lips pressed together, and John felt his own tongue drag against his bottom lip before he could stop it.  
  
"It's all right, Captain."  
  
John winced, and his eyes snapped up to meet the major's. "What?"  
  
"John," he replied, "it's OK."  
  
John stared into Sholto's eyes. There was no indication that he was joking, nothing cruel or mocking in his eyes. So this was it. If he was ever going to kiss another man, this was the moment. And he couldn't deny anymore that he wanted to. All he had to do was close the few inches between them. Just one step forward. John's gaze flitted between Sholto's eyes and mouth. He peered over Sholto's shoulder. A few soldiers in the distance walked toward the mess hall. It was getting dark. It was unlikely anyone would see them. But John couldn't quite bring himself to take that step.  
  
He felt fingers curl around his elbow and looked back at Sholto to find him settling closer. The toes of their boots touched as Sholto leaned down. He stopped just short of John's lips before he finally pressed his mouth to John's. John took an unsteady breath through his nose and held it. John's commanding officer kept his lips pressed lightly to John's. He made no move to press forward or open his mouth, and John froze, unsure how to react. But when Sholto started to pull away, John's breath rushed from his lungs, and he leaned forward, unwilling to let their contact break just yet. His hand flew to Sholto's shoulder, holding him in place, and he finally kissed the man back. He brought Sholto's upper lip into his mouth, feeling the stubble above his mouth, running his tongue gently across the other man's lip. It felt different than he expected, less abrasive, and sexy as hell.   
  
Sholto broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to John's. "OK?"  
  
John nodded. He pulled his hand from between them and grabbed the nape of Sholto's neck, dragging him down for another kiss. He didn't hold back. In for a penny, in for a pound. It was rough and hard and heated, and better that he'd imagined. Sholto smelled of cigarettes and gun powder and sweat and dirt. Odors John never would have thought he'd find sexy, but in that moment, he could think of nothing he'd find hotter. Sholto's mouth opened, and John eagerly followed suit, letting his tongue venture to find the major's. He explored, feeling the rough and smooth textures of Sholto's tongue, the stubble against his mouth, the teeth grazing his lips. Oh, God.  
  
Sholto's arms wound tight around John's waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other from thighs to shoulders. John stood on his tiptoes and grabbed fistfuls of the back of Sholto's uniform. His heart pounded so loudly that he couldn't hear anything over it. Fuck, this was good.  
  
John felt Sholto's hand slide down to his hip, and he was gripped by a sudden panic that someone would see. He pushed away and put some distance between them. "Sorry," he said between pants.  
  
Sholto ran a hand through his hair and then across his mouth as John tried to compose himself. John's eyes darted around, and his panic finally started to fade when he found no one.  
  
"We need to find someplace more private if we plan to do that again," John finished.  
  
Sholo smiled in return. "I think that would be expedient." They stood a few feet apart, catching their breath and watching soldiers file in and out of the mess hall across the camp.  
  
"That was unexpected," Sholto chimed, making John flinch. He nodded in reply. Sholto tucked his uniform shirt back into his trousers and smoothed it down, and John realized he should probably do the same. They couldn't show up together at the mess hall looking rumpled. People would talk.  
  
"Maybe we should arrive separately at the mess hall," John said to Sholto's back.  
  
Sholto's posture went stiff as he made one last tug on his uniform and replied, "That's fine."  
  
Sholto strode quickly across the camp, and John followed a couple minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to emmagrant01 for the beta.


	4. FIDO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John opened his eyes to the disappointing vision of a dark grey ceiling. He sat up and pressed his bare feet to the cold floor in his room. He stared at the glossy pages above his roommate's bed and waited for his erection to go away. Two weeks this had been going on. Two weeks where he couldn't avoid peeking at Sholto's corner of the mess hall, or checking if he was in his room as John walked by. For two weeks, he had tried to suppress, to forget. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the dreams or the fantasies, and John couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't go on denying that he had feelings for his commanding officer.

John paused as he turned from the end of the food line toward the tables lined up inside the tent. He was later than most to get supper, so the hall was only half full with people already well into their meals. The mood was quiet, somber, without the usual rowdy rumble. Sholto sat in his usual spot, and John considered walking over there. He chose instead to sit near the middle of the room with two medics who had already almost finished their meals. One stared into space as the other picked at the cheese left on his square slice of pizza.  
  
"All right, gentlemen?" John asked as he sat.  
  
"Fine, sir," replied the medic picking at his meal. He didn't look fine.  
  
"It was a rough day." John took a bite of his slightly warm meal, and looked back over at Sholto, who was cutting his pizza with a knife and fork. John tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out as a staccato rush of air through his nose. He checked the medics. They were too caught up in their own worlds to notice the laugh, which was a relief. He didn't want to give the impression that he didn't empathize with them. The staring soldier still hadn't even acknowledged John's presence.  
  
John placed a hand carefully on his shoulder. "Do you need to talk to somebody?"  
  
The medic flinched before croaking, "No, I'll be fine. Thank you, sir." Finally, the medic took a bite of his meal, and John relaxed a little.  
  
He looked back to Sholto's corner, but he was gone. Damn, he was awfully stealthy for such a big man. John ate his meal in silence with the other medics, who didn't seem eager to get up from their seats. He felt a little guilty for not sitting with the major, but what was he supposed to do? They couldn't go frolicking around and holding hands just because they shared one kiss. One really fucking amazing kiss. But still. Sholto was a pragmatist. He knew they couldn't afford any rumors. John sighed and rolled the cricks from his neck. _Stop thinking about it._  
  
When John finished his meal, he left the medics still at their table and marched to the field hospital. Even with the worst cases sent off to Camp Bastion, the field hospital was still at capacity. How could four men and a tube cause so much damage? This was the worst mortar attack John had seen. They usually missed. He supposed he should feel lucky that only four people died with so many injuries; one of the battalion brass had even congratulated him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything in response. In fact, the only time that day he had felt anything but adrenaline-fueled distress or horrible numbness was when he was with Sholto. And if he was going to be completely honest with himself, he had to admit that it wasn't just the kiss. He felt his blood pressure drop the moment Sholto sat down next to him.  _Stop thinking about it._  
  
He finished his round and exited the tent into the quickly cooling night air. He just needed a shower, a shave, and a good night's sleep. If he went now, maybe he could get in a shower before all the hot water was gone. Assuming no one stole it, the bag with his soap and razor should have still been at the showers. He'd have to go back to the barracks for his towel, so he hoofed it over there.  
  
He rounded up his towel, pajamas, and shower shoes and rounded back into the hallway. He had just made it a few yards when Sholto came through the entrance to their hall. John wanted to act as not-thrown-for-a-loop as possible, so he cleared his throat and said, "Good evening, Major."  
  
"Watson."  
  
John gestured down the hall with his towel as the distance between them closed. "Just heading for a shower."  
  
"I was about to head that way myself," Sholto responded just before they passed each other. "Don't forget to shave."  
  
John chuckled weakly and walked a few more steps before calling behind him, "I won't."  
  
  
The water in the shower was warm, thank God. John rolled his neck and let the water ease some of the tension in his shoulders. Sleep. Sleep would be good. He turned to face the water and let it run over his face and head before lathering the soap in his hands and rubbing it onto his face. He smiled at the fact that, though he walked around all day with only half of his face shaved, Sholto was the only person to mention anything.  
  
He finished shaving and was rinsing his face when he heard low humming and the slapping of shower shoes coming toward his cubicle. He watched out the crack between the curtain and the wall as the newcomer walked by. It was a soldier he didn't recognize.  
  
John breathed a sigh of relief and then laughed at himself. Why was he letting himself get so worked up? He stuck his head under the water and let it cascade over his back, bracing himself on the wall. What did he think was going to happen? Sholto was just going join him in the cubicle? Like what, he was going to just step in behind him? Brace his hands next to John's. Press his chest against John's back. Whisper, "All right, Captain?" in his ear. Brush his lips against John's neck. Wrap an arm around his waist. Slide a wet hand down his abdomen. _Oh God._  
  
John pushed a strangled breath from his lungs and shook the images from his head as he worked soap into his flannel. _Stop thinking about it._  
  
  
  
It was still dark out when John woke up. He checked his watch. 4:30. No use trying to go back to sleep. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and sat up as images from his dreams swam through his mind. Sholto was there again, lying on his stomach, rifle pressed to his shoulder. Riding TC in his Humvee, listening to his soldiers bullshitting. He tried to concentrate on those parts of the dream instead of bodies getting ripped apart by explosives or crushed by debris. He'd be able to shake it off as soon as he got back into his routine. It was just a bad day. He couldn't let himself dwell on it. He just needed to get in his uniform, have some breakfast, and get through the day.  
  
As John pulled on his shirt, he wondered how Sholto handled it. He always seemed so calm and professional on the outside. John would have never known Sholto experienced any psychic trauma if not for their conversation the night before. But why share that with him? John had never seen Sholto so much as chat with anyone else in the camp, but he had whole conversations that some would consider personal with John. Sought him out, even. It was possible Sholto just stumbled upon him the night before, but not likely. And then he kissed John. It didn't make any sense. Then again, it didn't make any sense that John had kissed him back, that he wanted more. God, he was desperate for it, but it was all madness. He couldn't go around snogging his commanding officer--fraternization within the chain of command, and all that. Yet somehow, these images of him and his commanding officer would not leave his mind.  
  
John yanked on his trousers and sat down to pull on his socks and boots. No, enough of this. It was time to nip this thing in the bud. He had no idea how he was going to accomplish that, but it would come to him. He couldn't risk his career for what was probably just a passing fancy. At they very least, they would get demoted. Sholto would lose his command. Surely Sholto was just as aware of that. Then why did he kiss John? John cinched his belt and walked into the hall. He couldn't make any of this make sense.  
  
Once again, he couldn't resist the urge to peek in Sholto's room as he walked by. Sholto was just starting to stir, rolling onto his back and stretching. An expanse of abdomen drew John's attention to a trail of gingery blond hair that disappeared below the waistband of his pants. He wanted to trace kisses there. Inhale Sholto's scent. Feel fingers tangle in his hair. Listen to Sholto sigh and moan as he woke up. Slide his hands up firm buttocks and hook his fingers under a waistband.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
What was he supposed to do about this?  
  
John walked to the head and then over to the mess hall, though it was still a bit too early to get any breakfast. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat at a table near the entrance to wait. He watched the cooks in their combat suits and aprons stir large pans of scrambled eggs and flip sausages on a griddle. He felt nearly relaxed until Major Sholto walked in, his clipboard tucked under his arm.  
  
John's posture stiffened as Sholto tossed the clipboard on the next table and sat down. "Good morning, Captain."  
  
"Good morning, sir."  
  
Sholto flipped open his clipboard and started his daily prep for the briefing. John didn't understand what was going on. Why didn't Sholto just sit at the same table? He was all but ignoring John. So, were they supposed to pretend nothing happened? What were the rules for this sort of thing? Was conversation allowed?  
  
"How are your stitches feeling?" John eventually ventured.  
  
"Fine," Sholto replied without looking up from his notes.  
  
"They might be ready to come out."  
  
John thought he saw the corner of Sholto's mouth twitch. "I'll come by this evening."  
  
"Good." John nodded. "Good."  
  
  
  
As much as John anticipated the major's arrival, it surprised him when Sholto actually came to the field hospital. Their day had been very busy with the upkeep from the attack the day before, so John was barely aware that evening had arrived until Sholto walked in. A medic who had been logging charts stood up to greet the major, but John stopped him. "I've got this one."  
  
He walked over to Sholto and saluted. "Evening, sir."  
  
Sholto returned the salute. "Good evening, Captain. Shall we?"  
  
"Yes, of course." John gestured for Sholto to go to the familiar alcove and followed him over. As John washed up and put on gloves, he said, "Go ahead and take your trousers off so I can take a look."  
  
Sholto did so as John pulled out scissors and tweezers. John sat across from Sholto. No redness or swelling. Closure looked good. John pressed at the edges. Skin cool to the touch. "Tender?"  
  
"No."  
  
John slid the scissors under the first suture. "Should we talk?" He asked under his breath.  
  
"We don't have to." John finished clipping the stitches and picked up the tweezers.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
John pulled the first few stitches before Sholto replied. "It's OK, John."  
  
John's head popped up like a meerkat. "Sorry?"  
  
Sholto leaned over as if to get a better look at the stitches coming free and said through barely moving lips, "You don't have to let me down easy, Captain. We can just chalk it up to the both of us wanting comfort. It doesn't need to be more, and I don't expect it to happen again. Now stop staring and get back to work on these stitches."  
  
"Oh."  
  
John went back to work on the stitches. He supposed that made sense. He was a doctor; he knew how comforting physical touch could be in stressful situations. A hand to the shoulder when delivering bad news or holding hands when a procedure was painful. But, was that what the kiss was about? He couldn't be certain even for himself, so maybe it would be best to just take Sholto at his word. Even if there was more to it, they both knew it couldn't happen again.  
  
John pulled the last stitch and looked up into Sholto's eyes. "All done."  
  
Sholto nodded. "Thank you, Captain."  
  
"You're welcome, sir." John stood and walked his trash to the bin. When he turned back around to get his tools ready to be sanitized, Sholto was back in uniform. John stood aside to let Sholto out of the alcove. "I suppose I'll see you around, then."  
  
Sholto nodded. "I suppose so."  
  
He looked at John for a moment before patting him once on the shoulder and striding from the tent. John should have felt relieved, but he didn't.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Warm water cascaded over John's face, down his chest and legs, until it trickled between his toes. John flexed his bare feet on the tile, watching the rivulets and tributaries of water flow down his legs and swirl down the drain. Droplets gathered on his eyelashes, and he blinked them away. As he grabbed his bar of soap and flannel, he heard the scrape of metal on metal and fluttering of fabric, and a cool breeze from behind made him start.  
  
He jumped and spun to see Sholto settling the shower curtain back into place behind him. As the soap slipped from John's fingers, he hissed, "What the fuck are you doing here?"  
  
Sholto didn't answer, but a smirk appeared on his face as he turned to the side and leaned over. John watched the water spatter on Sholto's arse and run down his legs as he scooped up the bar of soap. John reached out and place one hand tentatively at the top of one buttock as Sholto stood back up with the soap in tow. John's hand slid to Sholto's hip as he turned to face John, but Sholto grabbed his hand and tugged it back, curving his own fingers over John's until their hands cupped Sholto's cheek. If John stretched his fingers just a bit, he could have slipped them between Sholto's legs and found his perineum. John's eyes fluttered closed at the thought and his breath came out in a heavy huff. He flexed and curved his fingers on Sholto's arse. This couldn't have been real.  
  
John felt an insistent tug at the flannel and let it go, his hand dropping heavily to his side. He couldn't open his eyes. If he did, Sholto would be gone. He'd remember this was a dream, and he'd wake up. No, let it go on just a little longer. John heard the scrub of the flannel against the bar of soap and then a thunk behind him as it was placed on a soap dish. The stubble on Sholto's face grazed John's cheek, and their lips brushed fleetingly together before Sholto stood back again. The only thing grounding John to Sholto was his hand on the major's arse. He squeezed and tried to urge Sholto forward, but he stood firm. John tried to step forward, but Sholto stopped him with a hand to his chest.  
  
"Patience," he heard Sholto whisper as the man's hands finally made contact with John's shoulders. He felt the rough terry work over his shoulders and chest, down his arms and stomach. John's breath hitched as the flannel found it's way below his belly button, but instead of finally touching his cock, Sholto turned him around and started cleaning his back.  
  
John braced himself on the wall and let the water hit his face, still afraid to open his eyes. Sholto rubbed the cloth in small circles down John's back and over his arse. John's cock throbbed and ached, begging for contact, but John didn't dare touch it himself. He wanted Sholto. Only Sholto. The major finally settled himself closer, his hard cock nestling on the cleft of John's arse. John rocked his body back and relished the feeling of Sholto's erection sliding against his soapy skin. Sholto pressed his fingers into John's hips and rocked their bodies together. And then he was gone again.  
  
John sighed as the flannel made contact with his skin again, this time on his calf. Sholto scrubbed John's leg thoroughly, working his way to the top of the thigh before switching to the other leg. John's legs trembled, and his fingers dug uselessly into the slick tile on the wall. His brain made a note that the camp's showers did not have tile, but he pushed that aside.  
  
Sholto finally pushed the flannel between John's legs and cupped his balls, pressing his thumb against John's perineum. John nearly lost balance as he groaned in sheer relief. He rocked against Sholto's hand as it gently massaged between his legs. "More," John sighed. "Please, I need more."  
  
John felt fingers on his hips, guiding him to turn around. He felt hot breath against his cock, and finally a tongue dragged slowly along his frenulum. "John," said a voice so near his cock he could feel the vibration, "look at me."  
  
John opened his eyes to the disappointing vision of a dark grey ceiling. He sat up and pressed his bare feet to the cold floor in his room. He stared at the glossy pages above his roommate's bed and waited for his erection to go away. Two weeks this had been going on. Two weeks where he couldn't avoid peeking at Sholto's corner of the mess hall, or checking if he was in his room as John walked by. For two weeks, he had tried to suppress, to forget. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the dreams or the fantasies, and John couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't go on denying that he had feelings for his commanding officer.  
  
He rocked back on his cot and pushed himself to standing. He walked into the hall planning to just pace around a bit until he felt sleepy again, maybe come up with a plan of how to approach Sholto, but he saw a familiar square of light outside Sholto's room. His heart thumped loudly as he padded down the hallway until he stood in the light. Sholto sat in much the same position as he did the first time John was in his room, admittedly with much different intent.  
  
John watched him read, a paperback this time with the spine folded back on itself. He bit the torch and flipped the book, smoothing the page down with his thumb, and John absentmindedly ran his own thumb over his lips.  
  
"Are you making a habit of loitering outside my room, Captain?"  
  
John dropped his hand to his side. "No, sir."  
  
Sholto looked up at him, his expression inscrutable. "Then shit or get off the toilet."  
  
As John walked in, Sholto shifted over on the cot, and John sat next to him, a bit closer than strictly necessary. He rubbed his hands down his thighs. How exactly was he going to broach the subject? After a few moments, he came up with nothing, so he leaned over to get a look at what Sholto was reading. His eyes settled on a line that made him start.  
  
"What did I just read?"  
  
Sholto brought the book down to his lap and looked at John. "Didn't your mother teach you that it's rude to read over people's shoulders?"  
  
"Yes, but what did I just read?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hang on." John searched the page for the line and pointed to it. "'Fucking her ass. Saving her life'?"  
  
Sholto sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."  
  
"What the fuck are you reading?"  
  
Sholto let the book fall open and tilted the front cover to John. A man and woman were in the soft-focus throes of passion on the cover, with _Decadent_  written in bold letters across the front. "It's quite terrible," Sholto said as he flipped back to the page he was reading.  
  
"Then why are you reading it?"  
  
"It's better than nothing."  
  
"Is it, though?"  
  
Sholto laughed. "Could you recommend a better use of my time in the middle of the night?"  
  
"Sleep comes to mind."  
  
"I never could sleep through the night."  
  
"Ah." John paused, and Sholto went back to the book. "Where did you find this fine piece of literature?"  
  
"Someone was kind enough to share part of their care package. Some wife or girlfriend probably read 'threesome' on the back cover and thought it would be a good idea to send it."  
  
A single laugh escaped through John's nose. "Not the kind of threesome she intended, I take it."  
  
"Not likely."  
  
John grasped Sholto's arm as he snickered. "Oh my God."  
  
Sholto smiled and chuckled a bit in return. "It seems to be the curse of the soldier that their porn contains one more penis than they want."  
  
John guffawed, and they shared a laugh until John realized his hand was still gripping Sholto's arm, half his fingers tucked under the sleeve. His face dropped. His thumb ran back and forth over Sholto's bicep, and John remembered the feel of ridges of ink under his thumb on the first night his body betrayed him. But he couldn't call this a betrayal anymore. He only wished that Sholto would reciprocate instead of watching John's thumb stroke his arm. John's drew his tongue over his lower lip as his fingers wrapped around Sholto's bicep. Maybe they didn't have to talk about it at all. If John just leaned in, let his lips brush against Sholto's . . .  
  
"John," Sholto's voice warned, and John's gaze finally flitted up to look into Sholto's eyes. Sholto scrutinized John's face, but John couldn't keep his eyes on Sholto's. He watched Sholto's mouth, the way he pressed his lips together and then released them with a huff of breath. Oh, that mouth. John's hand flew up to Sholto's face, and his fingers pressed against the major's scalp. "You'd better be damn sure this is what you want, Watson."  
  
John nodded and leaned over. Just before their lips touched, Sholto interrupted, "Wait."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Check the hall."  
  
As John got up and peered up and down the hall, he heard a flutter of pages behind him and then a click as the dim light behind him disappeared.  
  
"I wasn't fini-" John turned around and blinked at the darkness, "where are you?"  
  
John heard the cot squeak and saw Sholto's dim silhouette rise. "We need to get away from the door."  
  
Sholto's hand wrapped around John's elbow, and he guided John over to the corner to the side of the door. The hand on his arm slid up to his face, and its mate found the other side. Sholto just stood there for a long moment, stroking John's cheeks with his thumbs. Finally, Sholto's thumb rubbed across John's lower lip, and John's breath escaped in a loud huff as the silhouette  leaned down. John stood still and let Sholto find John's lips with his own. Sholto's lips brushed against his, and John's hands flew to Sholto's elbows, grounding himself there.  
  
Sholto's face was smooth, though John knew his own stubble must have been scratching Sholto's chin as he captured John's bottom lip and ran his tongue across it. John whimpered and pressed himself to his tiptoes. Sholto still smelled soapy from his shower and his hands held the aroma of book pages. His hands did not waver from John's face, stroking John's cheek with his thumb as their tongues caressed.  
  
Oh God, why had he waited so long to do this again? Sholto kissed him slowly, as if he was taking in every contour of John's mouth, every discernible texture of his tongue, the curve of lips, the graze of teeth. His arms slipped around John's waist, and his hands tucked under the back of John's t-shirt. They just settled there, hands on the small of John's back and fingertips stroking the dip of John's spine.  
  
John tried to mirror Sholto's restraint, to just enjoy the kiss as it was. It wouldn't be prudent to take things further here, with dozens of other soldiers sleeping nearby, but two weeks of pent up frustration were quickly taking their toll. And the fingers tracing his spine were not helping matters. John grabbed fistfuls of Sholto's t-shirt. He pushed and tugged Sholto closer until he was pinned against the wall with Sholto's thigh pressed between his legs. John moaned softly against Sholto's mouth, and finally, Sholto kissed him good and hard, pressing his tongue roughly into John's mouth. John wrapped his arms around Sholto and pressed his hands against Sholto's bare back under his t-shirt. He was pinned so firmly against the wall that he couldn't take a deep breath, but he still couldn't get Sholto's body close enough.  
  
"Fuck," John whispered as they broke off the kiss, panting against each other. And good God, Sholto was a good kisser. Sholto lifted his head to catch his breath, and John took the opportunity nuzzle against Sholto's neck. He inhaled the salty, soapy smell and pressed his lips against the hollow of Sholto's throat. Oh God, all this skin to explore. John traced his lips up Sholto's throat to his Adam's apple, relishing Sholto's slow ragged breaths. God, it was so different from kissing a woman's neck. Even with Sholto's close shave, John could still feel the blunt hairs just under the surface and the soft vibrations of the knot of vocal cords in his throat as Sholto murmured, "John."  
  
Sholto's shirt rode up as John slid his hands up Sholto's stomach, then chest, feeling the ripple and planes of strong muscles and the tickle of coarse hair against his palms. He grabbed Sholto's shoulders and used them to lift himself back up to Sholto's mouth. "John," he whispered again before capturing John's lips and pressing him firmly against the wall again. John's hands, still trapped under Sholto's shirt, gripped at the nape of the major's neck. Sholto's hands finally roamed the bare skin under John's t-shirt. Oh God, those rough hands on his sides felt amazing. John gasped as Sholto's thumb grazed over a nipple, and he soon realized that he was rutting against the major's thigh and making desperate little noises.  
  
Sholto broke of the kiss and leaned his forehead against the wall. "John. Oh God, John," he whispered. His hands fell to John's hips, guiding their movements, circling their hips in tandem. John felt Sholto's clothed erection pressing against his stomach, pushing up the hem of his t-shirt bit by bit. Oh fuck, it was wet. Another man's precome was smearing on his stomach, and it was fucking hot.  
  
One of John's hand snaked into Sholto's hair as the other grabbed his arse. "Oh fuck," he whispered, "Major."  
  
Sholto stilled and his hands came up to cup John's face. "Not here," he muttered. "I'm James here."  
  
John nodded. "OK."  
  
"Say it."  
  
"James."  
  
James pressed his lips gently against John's and went back to the languid pace from earlier, tracing John's lips with his tongue, worrying John's lower lip. John whimpered and tried to deepen the kiss, but Sholto's hands on his face kept him in check.  
  
"I never dreamed you'd be so enthusiastic," James whispered as he pressed their foreheads together and slipped his hands under John's t-shirt to roam John's torso. His thumbs grazed over John's nipples again, making him groan. John was going to have dreams about those hands.  
  
"You've thought about this?"  
  
James chuckled. "No, I kiss all my doctors."  
  
God, those hands, running over his arms, down his sides, fingers sliding up and down his spine, thumbs teasing at the waistband of his pants. "Oh," John panted, and pressed his groin against James's thigh.  
  
James muffled a groan in John's shoulder and tilted his hips in response. The friction was glorious, almost too much. "We need," Sholto started, but John's hands flew to James's arse and pressed them firmly together, and Sholto's words broke off in a hot rush of air. John could not stop thinking about James reaching a hand into John's pants. He pictured James's hand wrapping around his cock. He wondered if James would be rough or gentle. If he'd get John off quickly or take his time. "Oh fuck," John whispered, gripping James's buttocks and pushing their bodies together again and again.  
  
"John," James whispered in return as he captured John's mouth again. John groaned as James's tongue pressed roughly into his mouth, and then James's mouth was gone again. He pressed two fingers to John's mouth. "We have to be quiet," he hissed, which John barely registered as he wrapped his lips around those fingers. How many times had he fantasized about this? He'd lost count, but the real thing was better than he imagined. John ran the flat of his tongue over the rough, salty, soapy pads of James's fingers and pressed the tip in between.  
  
James gasped and let out one long ragged breath before hissing, "Shit," and kissing John again. They both moaned and grunted into each other's mouths and thrust roughly, raggedly against each other as their bodies responded to each other, beyond any rational thought.  
  
 But it was over too quickly when James pushed himself off the wall.  
  
"What's wrong?" John asked.  
  
James rocked from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth and then running his fingers through his hair. "We can't do this here. It's too risky."  
  
"Right. Of course. Sorry."  
  
"Don't be sorry. That was," James paused, "incredible."  
  
John pushed off the wall and rearranged his t-shirt. James's t-shirt was still pushed up around his chest, so John walked over and tugged it back into place. He smoothed it down over the planes of James's chest and stomach, resisting the urge to slip his hands back underneath. Resisting the urge to cup the bulge in James's pants, which his knuckles grazed, accidentally. James hissed and gripped the nape of John's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. Another searing kiss that nearly made John weak in the knees. John dug his fingers into James's arse again and stood on his toes, pressing their groins together. Oh fuck, he could feel James's testicles pressing heavily on the head of his cock. John knew somewhere in his rational brain that they needed to step away from each other. They were standing in the middle of the room in a very compromising position. But with James's tongue in his mouth and breath on his face and hands on his body and cock twitching against his groin, John just couldn't stop himself from reaching down the back of James's pants.  
  
Apparently, that broke the spell because James broke the kiss and stepped back. “I don’t get off on the thrill of being caught,” he whispered.  
   
"So what do we do?" John asked. _I can't go a month without touching you._  
  
"I'll find a place. I'll let you know."  
  
"OK." John pressed his hand to the center of James's chest for a long moment, feeling his heartbeat slow, before turning to return to his room.  
  
"John," James blurted as John walked through the doorway. John turned to look at James. His expression was hard to read in the dim light, but the long pause worried John. "Sleep tight," he finally finished.  
  
"Good night, James," John replied with his best flirty smile before turning back to his room. He waddled back, his second erection of the night rubbing uncomfortably against his pants with every step. Shit, he was sensitive. Thankfully, his roommate snored away on his cot.  
  
John settled back down on his cot and rolled to face the wall. As he palmed his erection through his pants, he wondered if Sholto was doing the same thing. Was he lying down or sitting up? Did he push down his pants or just pull out his cock? John imagined him standing with his pants pushed down around his thighs, bracing himself on the wall. He imagined his own fingers belonged to James as they wrapped around his cock, that his thumb was Sholto's as he slicked the head with precome. He wondered what Sholto was thinking about. How was he imagining John? Was he picturing John wanking or did he have other fantasies stored up from the weeks before? Did he picture John sucking his cock? Wanking him off? Fucking him?  
  
God, the thought of Sholto fantasizing about him, of Sholto wanting John as much as John wanted Sholto, was almost too much to take. John thrust into his fist, his hand moving in short, quick motions. Oh fuck, he was close. He pressed his pillow to his face with his free hand, muffling the sounds he couldn't stop from escaping his throat. His mind flashed back to Sholto making John call him James, and he came with James's name on his lips. He panted for several long seconds before cleaning himself up and tucking himself back in his pants.  
  
Although he knew that his life had just gotten much more complicated, there was something very freeing to finally resigning himself to having feelings for another man. He could think about the complex life questions tomorrow. For now, he was just going to enjoy the afterglow. He let out one long sigh and was asleep before the breath had completely left his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to emmagrant01 for the beta.
> 
> I apologize for the delay in replying to comments from the last chapter. In all honesty, I was feeling a little overwhelmed by the positive response and was scared to disappoint. There. Have a little insight into my ridiculous brain. :) I'll be going back to respond now, and I hope this chapter was enjoyable.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering, the book Sholto is reading [is real](http://smartbitchestrashybooks.com/blog/decadent_by_shayla_black).


	5. Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course this was what he wanted. He wanted to touch and kiss this amazing man, memorize every inch of him. Protocol be damned. John grabbed Sholto's collar and dragged him down until their lips crashed together. Sholto chuckled against John's mouth and wrapped his arms around John's waist. It felt so good just to be kissing again. John didn't realize how much he missed it until Sholto was there in front of him, hands splayed on his back, their lips sliding together.

John slid into the seat opposite Sholto and relished the surprised expression on his face. "Good evening, Major," he said as he picked up his fork. "Shit on a shingle. My favorite."  
  
"I'm surprised to see you here."  
  
"I can tell." John shoveled in a bite of creamed beef and smiled back as he chewed. As much as he talked crap about shit on a shingle, it did have an oddly nostalgic effect on him.  
  
"You seemed to think dining together would be suspicious several days ago."  
  
"Do you think that?"  
  
"No. I don't."  
  
"Well, I guess I've come around to your way of thinking, then." John loaded up his fork again and flashed Sholto a grin. After a moment, Sholto returned with his own small smile and dug into his meal.  
  
"I should tell you. I've recommended you for promotion," Sholto disclosed after a few minutes. John's forkful of creamed beef stopped midair and slowly sank back to the tray.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you deserve it."  
  
"All right," John started and picked up his fork before putting it back down again and leaning over his tray. "The timing of it is a bit suspect."  
  
"Don't question my integrity, Captain. I put in my recommendation a few days ago." He paused as he took a bite of his own meal and watched the soldiers behind John. "This was my first opportunity to mention it to you."  
  
John squirmed in his seat, considering another bite of his supper. "I doubt I'll pursue it."  
  
"It'll be good for you. Get you away from the front."  
  
John smirked. "Trying to get rid of me, are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm happy where I am."  
  
"Good."  
  
They settled into another one of the long silences that tended to stretch between them. John supposed silence usually became more rare as people became more comfortable with each other, but somehow, with him and Sholto, the silence just became less awkward. He could get used to sitting in silence across from this man, listening to the din of conversation behind him. John watched Sholto watch the soldiers eat and socialize, his face impassive, only the smallest of micro-expressions creasing his face, and John felt happy.  
  
"Stop staring," Sholto finally broke through the quiet, glancing at John before going back to his perusal of the tent.  
  
John loaded up his fork again. He didn't intend to stare, but, "I've got nothing else to look at over here. Unless I want to watch the tent wall." John took a bite, chewed, swallowed. "Ah, tan canvas. How fascinating."   
  
The corner of Sholto's mouth twitched upwards, though he didn't stop watching the action behind John.  
  
"You know; if you never talk to me, people might start to wonder why I would sit here."  
  
"Maybe you just like the quiet."  
  
"I suppose that could be true." John didn't pursue any more conversation, and he tried to concentrate more on his meal than his commanding officer.  
  
"What do you want to talk about?" Sholto finally asked.  
  
"I don't know. What do people normally talk about?"  
  
"Well," Sholto nodded towards the tables, "those blokes are all bragging about their conquests and kills. Or they're reminiscing about home."  
  
"I'm guessing you don't want to talk about the first two."  
  
"No, I don't like to brag." Sholto glanced at John before looking back at the soldiers behind John.  
  
John smirked to himself and leaned forward to murmur, "If you keep looking at other men right in front of me, I might get jealous."  
  
Sholto chuckled, but he replied, "This is not the right place for that."  
  
"Okay, I'll change the subject. What about the third thing? Anything you miss about home?"  
  
Sholto shrugged. "You?"  
  
"There's a chip shop near the base."  
  
"I know it."  
  
"And, I guess, jumpers. And fabric softener." John paused. "God, that's terrible."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Those men," John nodded backwards, "are probably talking about friends and family, and the only things I can come up with are fried food and soft clothes."  
  
"I can't picture you in a jumper."  
  
John tried to picture Sholto in a jumper, but it just seemed absurd. "Me neither. Do you even own civvies?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I do."  
  
John ventured a guess of what kind of clothes Sholto might own. He pictured a plain t-shirt and pair of jeans; he couldn't imagine Sholto would go much beyond the practical. Sholto's arse probably looked great in jeans. "I bet you're the type that owns nothing but khakis and green t-shirts."  
  
"That's not true." Sholto took a sip from his water bottle. "I have jeans and brown t-shirts, too."  
  
John beamed at him for a little too long before going back to eat the last couple bites of his meal. Seeing his opportunity slip away, he asked, "Have you figured out anything?"  
  
"Wh-" Sholto started before realizing what John was talking about. "I need to do some recce. Stand by."  
  
John nodded and downed the rest of his water before gripping the edges of his tray and pushing himself to standing. "I hope to see you soon, Major. Have a good evening."  
  
Sholto nodded. "The same to you, Captain."  
  
  
  
  
  
A few days later, John leaned on the wheel well of a water processing truck, stared at its mate directly across a few feet away, and waited for his commanding officer. John had arrived at their agreed-upon meeting place a little early, and now Major Sholto was late. He had never known the major to be late to anything. And now he was--John checked his watch--five minutes late. John started pacing, fixing bits of his uniform, rubbing his hands together. He had been feeling confident, but with Sholto running late, his doubts started to surface. Was this crazy? Was he really ready to risk his career for this? Not to mention that he'd not so much as kissed a man before Sholto. But no, he pushed that aside. He could pretend his nerves were some attempt to preserve his heterosexuality, but he knew that wasn't true. He had proven to himself on multiple occasions that he was downright smitten.  
   
But that didn't make the risk any less. He didn't fancy being demoted or court martialed. God, they shouldn't be doing this.  
   
Thankfully, Sholto arrived to interrupt John's reverie. He was smiling, a little secret one, as he turned the corner between two trucks, but his brow creased as he laid his eyes on John. John straightened his uniform one last time as Sholto closed the last few feet between them.  
   
"Good evening, Major," John said before a fresh furrow on Sholto's brow reminded John. "I'm sorry. It's just habit."  
   
He swallowed hard and took one long breath to try to slow the beating of his heart. He clenched and released his fists and tried to school his expression into something that would wipe the look of concern from Sholto's face. Sholto ran his fingers over John's recently buzzed hair and settled his hand on John's face, stroking the cheek with his thumb. John took a deep breath and sighed, the surge of adrenaline finally settling down.  
   
"Nervous?" Sholto asked.  
   
John chuckled. "You could say that."  
   
Sholto nodded thoughtfully. Then his smile began to return. "Me too."  
   
"Are we sure this is the best place? Don't you have an office?"  
   
Sholto's hand caressed down John's neck to his shoulders. "I have a desk, along with a dozen others, in a tent, in the middle of everything."  
   
"What about the building we don't use?"  
   
"We don't use it because it's half-destroyed and structurally unsound." Sholto squeezed John's hands and dropped them. "Besides, it's too quiet over there. Anyone who walked by would hear us. Trust me. This is the place. Nobody comes here in off hours; we're hidden between the trucks; it's far enough from the watchtowers that they won't see us, and it's noisy."  
   
"You've done this before."  
   
Sholto's smile disappeared again, replaced with a stern expression. "If you're asking if I've had an affair with a subordinate before, the answer is no. But you don't spend sixteen years in the military as a gay man without learning some stealth."  
   
"Right," John nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, "that makes sense."  
   
"John," Sholto said, tipping John's face towards his and scrutinizing John's expression. "Are you sure this is what you want?"  
   
John paused for a bit longer than he intended, watching the care and concern etching his major's expression, and a smile prickled at the corners of his mouth. Of course this was what he wanted. He wanted to touch and kiss this amazing man, memorize every inch of him. Protocol be damned. John grabbed Sholto's collar and dragged him down until their lips crashed together. Sholto chuckled against John's mouth and wrapped his arms around John's waist. It felt so good just to be kissing again. John didn't realize how much he missed it until Sholto was there in front of him, hands splayed on his back, their lips sliding together. John pressed his hands between them and began fumbling with the top button of Sholto's shirt. He struggled with the first button, his hands shaking despite themselves, but each button was easier than the last.  
   
John tugged the tails of Sholto's shirt from his trousers and felt the warm breath of a sigh on his cheek as Sholto leaned over just enough to murmur in John's ear, "You are such a surprise, John Watson."  
   
"What do you mean?" John pushed Sholto's t-shirt out of the way to get to the waist of his trousers, and felt a ragged, heavy sigh escape as he watched his own fingers trace the trail of hair down from Sholto's navel. God, he wanted trace that hair with his lips, bury his nose in it and just inhale. He wondered if the omnipresent odor of gunpowder existed there as well. John hooked his fingers under the waistband of Sholto's pants. He heard a gasp against his ear and watched Sholto's hips jerk back reflexively, revealing just the tiniest glimpse of his cock to John's eyes, before rocking forward into John's touch again. So fucking tantalizing.  
   
John remembered asking a question, vaguely, but he didn't wait for Sholto's answer. He just shoved one hand down the major's pants and used the other to pull him down into another kiss. He gripped Sholto's cock as best he could in the confines of the pants. He felt the silky skin slide against the shaft, thick and hot against his palm. It felt so surreal, his tongue desperately searching Sholto's mouth as the major rocked against his hand. It was like he was watching someone else. Only the pounding of his heart, loud in his ears, and the jolts of his cock twitching against pilled cotton kept him grounded, reminded him that this was really happening.  
   
"Oh, fuck, John," Sholto muttered against John's mouth and dropped his head to John's shoulder. He pressed his mouth to John's neck and used it to muffle the groans and curses emanating from his mouth. John closed his eyes against the dirty, filthy sounds humming against his neck. He could listen to those sounds all day, and Sholto's lips were wet and searching. His teeth grazed John's sensitive skin, and John went weak in the knees, hoping and fearing that Sholto would bite down, mark him, claim him.  
   
John opened his eyes as he felt Sholto standing and tugging at his own trousers, freeing the button, pulling apart the zip, and finally pushing down trousers and pants to his thighs. John stepped back a bit, leaned his head against Sholto's chest and took in the sight. Oh god, it was perfect. Sholto's cock jutted straight from his body, rosy skin against tanned hand. John reached between Sholto's legs and ran his fingers over the ridged skin of testicles, felt their weight in his hand and watched Sholto's cock twitch upward at the contact. A bead of precome hung at the tip, and John licked his lips at the thought of tasting it, imagining it, thick and hot and salty, against his tongue. He resisted the urge; instead, he swirled the liquid against the head with his thumb, imagining how it would feel to do that with his tongue, and massaged Sholto's frenulum with the slicked digit.  
   
Sholto shuddered and John felt panting breaths ghost against his scalp. He knew they couldn't stay there for long. Even if this was not a well-traveled area of the camp, it surely wouldn't do to dawdle. But John felt like he could do this forever. He just wanted to explore Sholto's body, to find out what made him tick, what made him whimper. He wanted to taste salty skin and feel the planes and ripples of muscle under his palms. Never in a million years did he think he would be here, relishing the feel of another man's cock in his hand, fantasizing about how it would feel in his mouth, but here he was.  
   
"John," Sholto breathed, and John's head popped up to look at his face. "Kiss me."  
   
 _Hell yes._  John grasped the nape of Sholto's neck and dragged him down. His lips were rough, chapped, and slick with saliva. Their tongues collided and slid in a desperate, hurried mess as Sholto thrust raggedly into John's hand. John felt a tug at the back of his shirt and then a strong hand press to the small of his back, pushing their bodies together. John's arm got trapped between them, but he kept stroking and exploring Sholto's cock nonetheless.  
   
Sholto dragged his lips over John's jaw to his ear and panted, "God, John, you're so sexy." John felt a hand slide under his pants to cup his butt cheek. "I wish . . . I wish we could take our time."  
   
John didn't respond. He was kind of beyond speech at the moment, so he made a guttural noise that he hope sounded like agreement.  
   
"God, you are such a surprise," Sholto continued before capturing John's mouth again. Sholto's hand flew to John's face, fingertips pressing into his scalp. Some space opened up between them, and John began working Sholto's cock in earnest. He wanted to make him come. He wanted it so bad, to feel it warm on his fingers, to know he made that happen. He wanted to feel Sholto's cock twitch and pulse, to watch his face. He shocked himself when he realized how much he wanted to taste it, to feel Sholto spend himself on John's tongue. From somewhere in his mind came the notion that he should have found that disgusting, but his body disagreed, his cock twitching and hips rocking to just the thought.  
   
"I'm close," Sholto sputtered between pants and groans, and with his chance disappearing, John dropped to his knees. He regarded Sholto's cock for a moment, suddenly at a loss. What was he supposed to do with this? A hand job was easy; he'd rubbed out plenty on himself since arriving in Afghanistan, but this put him out of his depth. But he was here now. What else was there to do but dive in?  
   
John wet his lips and let the head of Sholto's cock slide over them as he took it into his mouth. He tried to remember what his last blow job was like, though it was almost a year before. He liked when a woman used her hands, and enthusiasm was always a plus. So, John started with that. He slid his mouth down Sholto's length until he felt like he would gag. There was still quite a bit of shaft left, so he wrapped his hand around the base to compensate. He pressed his tongue to the underside and explored the feel of it, finding the dips in the skin between the corpora.  
   
Ah, here was something where his knowledge as a doctor could help. This was likely a relatively unexplored area. He let his hand move with his mouth and pressed his tongue up the dip on one side and then down the other. Sholto shuddered, so John repeated the action again and again, moving faster each time. His realized he could use more pressure if his hand was slick, so he spat on it and went back to work.  
   
A bit of precome landed on John's tongue, and he hummed at the taste of it. "Ah, fuck," Sholto cursed, and John looked up at him. His eyes were wrenched shut, his face a mask of concentration as he tried to control the rocking of his hips. John moaned at the sight, and Sholto shuddered against him.  
   
Emboldened, John gripped Sholto's hip with his free hand and tried something different. He sped up, and his cheeks hollowed with suction as he bobbed up and down. He'd always thought of oral sex as a largely selfless act, but he was getting off on the noises and the taste and the smell and the way he had rendered another human being senseless. Then Sholto muttered, "I'm coming," and John felt the first spurt of semen against his tongue.  
   
He started at the sensation and nearly pulled off, but he stroked Sholto through the orgasm and let him finish in John's mouth. When Sholto stepped back, looking dazed, John still had a mouth full of semen. Now, what to do with this glob of ... goo. He grimaced and tried to swallow but couldn't quite bring himself to do it, so he leaned to the side and spit it on the ground. John wiped his mouth as Sholto helped him to his feet, and Sholto tucked himself back into his pants as John kicked dirt over the evidence.  
   
John barely had time to react before Sholto was on him again, plundering his mouth and pulling their bodies flush against each other.  
   
"You," he muttered against John's mouth. "God, John. I just . . . fuck."  
   
Sholto captured John's mouth again as he tugged at John's trousers. John's hips were tugged forward as Sholto yanked at his belt and struggled with the top button of his trousers. _Oh, fuck yes._ Sholto kept kissing John and holding his body close even as he tugged down the zip and pushed John's pants down his arse. Sholto's kisses were always so rough and passionate. John was used to being in control when he kissed a woman, but with Sholto he happily relinquished and let Sholto practically fuck John's mouth with his tongue. Sholto drew John's bottom lip between his teeth and gave it one last tug before dropping to his knees.  
   
John felt lost, unmoored, as he felt the absence of Sholto's body and mouth against him. He balanced himself on Sholto's shoulder and pressed his other hand to his eyes as Sholto tugged his hips forward.   
   
"Shit," John exclaimed as his cock was engulfed in wet heat. Oh God, what was he doing with his tongue? John couldn't hold back a loud groan as his stomach contracted and his knees went weak. The hand over his eyes flew to Sholto's shoulder to keep himself from falling. John tried to wrench his eyes open. He wanted to see what was happening, but the sensations were just too intense. He could feel Sholto's nose pressed in his pubic hair, hot breath escaping as he pulled back, tongue sliding along the underside, glans pressed against soft palate. John tried not to thrust into Sholto's mouth, but it was like he had lost complete control of his body. He couldn't even tell if he was keeping himself upright anymore or if Sholto was holding him there. His fingers dug into Sholto's shoulders. _Stop doing that. You can't leave marks._  
  
No, it was too intense. It was going to be over too quickly. John didn't want it to end, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Sholto to slow down either. God, his mouth was so hot and wet, and he was doing things with his tongue that John couldn't even define. The suction was perfect. And John could feel the vibration of each sound Sholto made. Though John couldn't get his eyes to open, he could imagine Sholto's head bobbing and the lustful moans and whines and hums. He could picture Sholto's fingertips pressing against his butt cheeks, sliding down to his thighs and reaching between.  
   
John shuddered as fingers pressed between his thighs and rubbed against his perineum. He tried to part his legs, but he was held too firmly in place, and too little of his weight was actually on his feet. Oh God, this man. This sexy, inscrutable, impossible man. How did any of this happen? John forgot about the hum of motors processing water. He forgot about the dusty trucks around them. He forgot about the rest of the camp getting ready for bed or hanging out or preparing for night watch. The whole world contracted to the two of them. He was suspended between mouth and fingers, held in place by strong hands and sheer force of will.  
   
"I'm gonna, oh God, fuck," he heard himself say before he was convulsing in Sholto's grip, spending himself into that fucking perfect mouth.  
   
Sholto pulled off and slowly scooted away, helping John regain his balance. John stood hunched, hands resting for a long moment on Sholto's shoulders. Finally, he was able to open his eyes and look at Sholto's face, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. So fucking gorgeous. "That was," John huffed and swallowed hard, "amazing."  
   
Sholto stood and pulled John in for another kiss, taking it slowly this time. His lips brushed over John's, his tongue slowly ventured to find John's. John could taste himself on Sholto's tongue, salty and metallic, and he groaned at the realization that Sholto must have swallowed. John wrapped his arms around Sholto and pulled him close. He could feel the major's heart beating wildly against his chest.  
   
Sholto broke off the kiss and brushed his lips along John's forehead. "We should probably move out."  
   
John nodded, but he made no move to separate them. He felt Sholto's chuckle vibrate against him. "You really are a surprise, John."  
   
John pressed his forehead to Sholto's chest, feeling the euphoric effects of the post-coital hormone rush. "Why?"  
   
"Until recently, I was sure you were straight."  
   
"Well, I a-" John started, "I was."  
   
Sholto stiffened. "What?"  
   
"I guess I can't really call myself straight anymore, but you're the first man I've ever even kissed, let alone," John paused, "this."  
   
Sholto pushed John back to hold him at arms length and stared at his face. John suddenly felt raw and exposed, so he tried as non-chalantly as he could to pull his pants and trousers back up.  
   
Sholto dropped his hands as John finished zipping his trousers. His expression was hard. "I've made a mistake." He turned on his heel and walked a few paces to a space between trucks before turning back and finishing. "Don't pursue this any further."  
   
Before Sholto could disappear between the trucks, John sprinted to him and caught him by the arm. "Whoa," John started as Sholto shook him off, "where did that come from?"  
   
"I'm not your experiment, Watson, and I'm not a warm place to put your cock until something better comes along."  
   
"What?" John's mouth fell open, and his jaw worked uselessly as words failed to form in his mouth. "Why?"  
   
"We're not doing this again." Sholto's voice sounded thick, and a deep frown creased his face. "I suggest you keep your distance."  
   
John watched his commander stride away as he fought an inner war to chase him or let him go. But as the distance grew, so did the likelihood of bringing attention to themselves. John hesitated too long, so he finally turned the opposite direction and walked back to the barracks in a confused daze.  
  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in chapters. Yikes, over a month. :/ But, I am happy to report that I will definitely have new chapters for the next 3 weeks at a minimum. To those who have been waiting, thank you for you patience.
> 
> And of course, I would be remiss if I didn't thank emmagrant01 for the beta!


	6. All Went for a Ball of Chalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he pulled the flap aside and stepped outside, he was surprised by the bright mid-day sun. He held up his hand to block the sun when he spotted Major Sholto sitting on the ground near the entrance. Even out here with blood slowly congealing on a long, deep gash down his face, he looked calm. He always looked calm. One week of having to see that stoic fucking face every day, and John was ready to break it in half.

John concentrated on metering a dose of antibiotic for a soldier's infected wound into a syringe. "I'm also going to give you some pills," he instructed the soldier waiting for the injection. "Twice a day for ten days. And you need to come back if this gets worse or stays the same. You shouldn't have let it get to this point in the first place."  
  
"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, rolling up his sleeve.  
  
"No," John shook his head, "this one goes in the arse."  
  
The soldier turned around and loosened his trousers, pulling down his pants enough for John to get a good injection site. John swabbed the area and pinched the skin around. As he was injecting the antibiotic, the radio cut in.  
  
"Echo-three-one-alpha, this is echo-one-one, over."  
  
John finished the injection. He held up one finger to the soldier as he keyed up his mic, "Echo-three-one-alpha, send, over."  
  
"One man with multiple gun-shot wounds to the abdomen coming in on MEDEVAC. ETA, seven minutes. Suspected laceration of the stomach and liver. Blood-type O-negative."  
  
 _Fuck._ John keyed up the mic as he started writing a list for his sergeant. "Roger. Please advise medic en-route that we are out of units of O-neg."  
  
"Roger, out."  
  
John turned to the soldier with the infection. "Come back later." The soldier turned to go, and John yelled across the tent, "Sarge!"  
  
He and his sergeant met in the middle. "Yes, sir," he replied as John handed him the list.  
  
"Get these ready. Acute abdominal trauma. Possible laceration of the liver. I need all hands on deck."  
  
John started to walk away to prep, but his sergeant stopped him. "Sir?"  
  
"If the liver's cut, why isn't blood on the list?"  
  
"We don't have any we can use."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes, so I need you to get moving right the fuck now."  
  
John scrubbed up and then helped his team get ready, making sure everything was in easy reach.  
  
He heard the rhythmic thumping of the helicopter overhead and ran out to meet it. The medic and pilot helped bring in the stretcher as the medic yelled his update on the soldier's status. He was conscious and breathing, but his breath gurgled.  The gauze that John now pressed to the soldier's abdomen was soaked with blood.  
  
As they ran through the tent flap, John started giving orders. "Intubate," he barked at one medic, and then another, "start a saline central line and then give him something for the pain," and to another, "track his vitals."  
  
John pulled away the gauze. The abdominal wall had ruptured. Intestines leaked out. A medic appeared with electrodes to monitor the heart.  
  
John made a midline incision down the abdomen. "Clamp," he ordered, and a clamp appeared in his hand. He placed it on the hepatoduodenal ligament. "Give me some suction over here." He needed to see what he was doing.  
  
"He's lost consciousness, sir."  
  
John nodded. He needed to find where the bleeding was coming from. He clamped off a blood vessel.  
  
He looked up to see a medic step around Major Sholto, who had blood dripping down the side of his face. "Get Major Sholto out of here," he commanded to no one in particular.  
  
The liver was still bleeding. "We need to pack the liver."  
  
John was hit with a horrible smell. The stomach had to be leaking acid. He searched for the laceration, but the soldier seized.  
  
"Get me an ampoule of lorazepam." John stood back as a medic put the dose in the IV.  
  
He found the stomach laceration and clamped it closed. "Suction here." _Please don't let it get in his bloodstream._  
  
"Blood pressure dropping."  
  
"Get epinephrine and get the AED ready." John clamped another vessel. A medic placed pads on the liver.  
  
Another medic placed the electrodes for the AED. John started a suture.  
  
"He's gone into V-fib."  
  
"Epinephrine," John ordered, and a medic dosed it into the central line.  
  
"Clear," John yelled and everyone's hands went up. His sergeant discharged the AED.  
  
John went back to his sutures until his sergeant yelled, "Charged."  
  
"Clear."  
  
The sergeant discharged the AED again. "No rhythm."  
  
"Do it again."  
  
They waited. "Charged."  
  
"Clear."  
  
"No rhythm."  
  
John paused as he pulled the gloves off his hands, his jaw clenching to the point of pain. "Call it."  
  
He didn't listen. He wanted to kick something but there was nothing to kick. He settled with slamming his fist into the operating table. He pulled the strings of his apron loose. "Sergeant, please take over here."  
  
"Yes, sir," the sergeant said to John's back as John pulled his apron free and tossed it in the bin. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin, so he turned to walk out of the tent. God, he could have used a smoke.  
  
As he pulled the flap aside and stepped outside, he was surprised by the bright mid-day sun. He held up his hand to block the sun when he spotted Major Sholto sitting on the ground near the entrance. Even out here with blood slowly congealing on a long, deep gash down his face, he looked calm. He always looked calm. One week of having to see that stoic fucking face every day, and John was ready to break it in half.  
  
"What are you doing out here, Major?"  
  
"Waiting."  
  
"Come inside. I'll fix your face."  
  
John turned to walk back into the tent, but Sholto interrupted, "One of the medics can do it."  
  
John stopped. "No they can't. They're busy."  
  
"I'll wait."  
  
John practically growled, clenching his fists and jaw. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tackle Sholto and beat his impassive face, but he gathered himself together enough to reply, "Suit yourself."  
  
He strode a few steps away, but he stopped when Sholto shouted behind him, "Captain Watson?"  
  
John turned around. "Yes?"  
  
"How is Private Dalton?"  
  
John's body clenched again. He blinked several times in quick succession. "He's dead."  
  
"Oh fuck."  
  
"And maybe he'd still be alive if we could get some fucking supplies," John spat before turning away. He needed to take a long walk.  
  
  
  
  
  
John lay on his cot, counting the cracks in the concrete ceiling after an extremely unsatisfying supper. He kept going over the last line of his encounter with Major Sholto that morning. God, that was terrible. Not that John didn't still feel the immense urge to punch Sholto in the face, if just to see the visage crack for even a moment. He wanted to leave scratches and bruises on the man, some evidence that John had affected him at all. He couldn't understand it. Sholto had seemed so open, unabashed, even reverent, when they were together. And then he cut John off with barely an explanation, only some cryptic phrase about experiments. John's head buzzed with confusion. He felt used, humiliated. Though something inside told him that was not Sholto's intention, he couldn't push aside his feelings.  
  
John felt bereft, floating adrift through the last few weeks of his deployment. He wished he had never pursued Sholto after that first kiss. At least then he could have still had his fantasies, or at least had ones that weren't tainted with anger. Because even through all the anger and hurt, he still wanted to touch Sholto's bare skin. He still dreamed, and day-dreamed, about lips colliding, teeth biting, clothes being torn asunder, rough hands pinning wrists, a hot mouth roaming his body, and a solid body thrusting against him. He still occasionally found himself going glassy-eyed as he listened to the major give the morning briefing and watched him lick his finger to turn a page, remembering the feel of that brilliant tongue in his mouth and on his cock.  
  
A twitch in John's groin brought him back to the present, and he rubbed on his face in an attempt to clear his head. All this anger and longing and confusion bullshit had to end. It was useless and harmful, and if he didn't watch it, he'd make a worse mistake than his borderline insubordination of the morning. If nothing else, he owed Sholto an apology for that morning. And maybe, just maybe, he could get a satisfactory explanation for why Sholto would give him what was quite possibly the best blow job of his life and then just storm off. And maybe if he had that, he could stop thinking about it. God, that mouth. John licked his lips as he imagined running his thumb along Sholto's bottom lip, feeling calloused fingers against his scalp, and the smell of him. Oh God, the smell of him, so masculine and thoroughly military. It was going to be a long time before he stopped finding the combined smells of dust, gun oil, and books arousing. Of course, he would be unlikely to encounter those smells together when he was back in country.  
  
John huffed and pushed himself from supine to standing in one forceful motion. _Better get this over with._  But first, he decided, he could use a bit of nicotine, just to calm the nerves. And how about that for a kick in the pants? Never once had he felt so nervous about talking to a woman. Of course, he also didn't tend to go back for the post-mortem.  
  
John crouched by his roommate's empty cot and snatched the pack of smokes from underneath. It was mostly full with a lighter tucked in one end. John took one and started to put back the pack, but at the last second he decided to grab another. He thought about grabbing the lighter, but it was better not to risk drawing attention to his bit of thievery.  
  
John stood back up and slipped the cigarettes into his breast pocket and threw on his jacket. Just one more thing. He grabbed the matchbook he kept for just such emergencies and dropped it in with the smokes. If Sholto was in his room in the barracks, perhaps John could lure him outside for a private conversation. John had a momentary crazed vision of himself whistling to Sholto and holding out a cigarette like it was a fucking dog bone. He chuckled nervously at the thought, before steeling himself and walking into the hall.  
  
John straightened his uniform and swallowed hard, trying to keep his heart down in his chest. As he turned the corner to stand in Sholto's doorway, he checked to verify the hall was still empty. Sholto sat on the floor in his PT's and reassembled a pristine rifle, dripping a bit of gun oil on each moving part before sliding them expertly together. John watched for a moment, remembering the way those hands felt on him, before inelegantly clearing his throat.  
  
Sholto looked up but did not break stride in reconstructing his weapon. "Good evening, Captain."  
  
John nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Major."  
  
Another piece of the rifle clicked into place. "Can I help you?"  
  
John cleared his throat. "Can we talk?"  
  
"Go right ahead."  
  
"I was just about to head out for a smoke."  
  
John spotted the little smirk that crossed Sholto's face before he settled it back into its normal impassive expression. "Are you asking me to come with you?"  
  
"Well, yes," John answered, patting his breast pocket, "I have an extra this time."  
  
"Lucky me." Sholto snapped another piece of his weapon in place. "I'm almost done here. Just give me a minute."  
  
Sholto finished putting his rifle together and propped it in the corner before tidying away his cleaning kit. "Just a second," he said as he snatched a pair of trousers from the top of his mesh laundry bag. Without any ado, he whipped off his shorts and pulled his trousers on. John barely had time to react let alone look away, so when Sholto turned around, he found John a bit dumbfounded. Without another word, Sholto slipped on a pair of shower shoes, threw on his jacket, and walked out of his room. John followed obediently.  
  
Once they were outside, Sholto turned to John and asked, "Where do you want to go?"  
  
"There's a good place to sit around the back of the barracks," John replied, pointing vaguely.  
  
"I remember it."  
  
John followed Sholto to the familiar spot. Was he sure the site of their first kiss was the best spot to talk? He fished the cigarettes from his pocket and handed one to Sholto.  
  
"Thanks," Sholto muttered as John propped his cigarette between his lips and fished out the matches.  
  
"Don't mention it." John pulled a match from the book and tried to light it, but the sandpaper on the back was not being cooperative. "Shit," he muttered, and lighted the match on the zip of his trousers. John put the match to the end of the cig and watched the ember glow. Just as he about to offer the matchbook to Sholto, the major grabbed John's wrist and used the already lit match to light his own cigarette. John watched, transfixed, as Sholto puffed at the cigarette until the end glowed to his satisfaction, his fingers pressed against John's pulse point.  
  
John's breath hitched, but then anger flared in his gut. Sholto had to know that what he was doing pushed the boundaries of platonic touch, and outside of professional chatter, they hadn't even said two words to each other before that morning. And despite his reasoning being obscured, Sholto had made it quite clear he was no longer interested in physical contact with John. What was he playing at?  
  
Once Sholto brought up his free hand to pull the cig from his mouth, John jerked his wrist from Sholto's grip and shook out the flame on the match. He tucked the matches back into his pocket and finally took the cigarette from between his lips and let go of the breath he had been holding for too long.  
  
As John walked over to sit against the wall, he tried not to clench his jaw. He took a deep breath and let it out as he slid down the wall. After a moment of his typical scrutiny, Sholto sat on John's right. His fresh stitches stood out in sharp, ragged relief against his skin.  
  
"Why don't you have a bandage on?"  
  
"I couldn't see."  
  
"Be careful, then. I don't want to see you in a week with an infection."  
  
"You won't."  
  
"Who did your stitches?"  
  
"LC Trask. Why?"  
  
"He could have done a better job. You should have just let me do it."  
  
"You seemed a bit preoccupied."  
  
"Yeah," John pressed his thumb to his brow. "I'm sorry about that."  
  
"You had just lost a patient."  
  
"Yes, but that's no excuse." John took another drag. "Did you know him?"  
  
Sholto shook his head. "Not really. He wasn't in my Humvee, but he was part of my company."  
  
"Were you there when he was shot? Is that how you?" John pointed to his own face, drawing an imaginary line down it.  
  
Sholto took a deep breath of smoke and nodded. He didn't say anything to elaborate, and John didn't feel like pressing the issue.  
  
After a moment, John leaned over and trailed his fingers down the stitches. They were sloppy, especially for the face--he'd have to talk to LC Trask about it--but they would work. John felt Sholto's jaw clench under his fingers, so he dropped his hand away. "It's going to scar."  
  
Sholto inhaled a deep breath of smoke and blew a puff from his nose before answering, "It's not as if it's the first."  
  
John sat and smoked and watched Sholto, enjoying and resenting the silence at the same time. The lopsided way Sholto smoked was downright endearing, and John found himself wanting to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. How could he be so angry with someone and still want to kiss him?  
  
Sholto suddenly shivered. "It's colder than I expected."  
  
"Yep," John replied. "November," he added with a flourish of his hand.  
  
"They're probably having Thanksgiving dinner at the American camp right now."  
  
"You think? What day of the week is it?"  
  
Sholto laughed. "I don't know."  
  
John propped his cigarette between his lips and scooted towards Sholto until their bodies touched. "Here, have some body heat."  
  
Sholto breathed a long, smoky sigh and leaned into John, but he said, "We've talked about this, John."  
  
"It wasn't so much talking about it as you barking an order at me." John took a drag and regarded the end of his cigarette, estimating how many drags he could still get out of it. "Besides, if you have any hope to enforce this ban of yours, you have to remember it's a two-way street."  
  
Sholto's mouth pressed into a thin line, but he replied, "You're right."  
  
However, he made no move to scoot away from John. So they smoked, side by side, with John's arm tucked underneath Sholto's until John finally broke the silence. "Will you tell me why?"  
  
"I'm your commanding officer."  
  
John pressed his fingers hard against his temple until he could feel his heartbeat against them. "That's a good reason. I know it is, but it's not the real one. If it were, this never would have started."  
  
The corner of Sholto's mouth twitched upward for just a fraction of a second. "Call it a moment of weakness."  
  
John flicked the flame from his butt and tucked the filter in his pocket. "Or three or four." Sholto's mouth twitched again and his tongue peeked out to wet his lips. "If it makes you feel any better," John continued, "come the end of January, I won't be under your command anymore."  
  
Sholto started and turned his head towards John. "Did you finally decide to accept the promotion?"  
  
Christ, had battalion really not told him? "God, the left hand really doesn't know what the right hand is doing. I'm attaching to another battalion."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why do we do anything? I got orders."  
  
"I might have to have a little talk with the brass about poaching my men."  
  
John huffed a laugh. "Like it would do any good."  
  
Sholto watched John, and John found himself caught in the gaze. Sholto's face was inscrutable as always, but John could have sworn he looked sad. "I'll miss you," he finally murmured. They stared at each other a bit longer. John wasn't sure whether or not he was surprised at Sholto's admission. He supposed he expected it was true, but not that Sholto would actually say it. It made him seem oddly vulnerable, and John felt the overwhelming urge to reassure. He leaned into to press his lips to Sholto's, but Sholto snapped his head forward and took another drag from his cigarette.  
  
"Jesus, fuck," John barked. "I'm done." John pushed his hands to the ground to push himself up, but Sholto grabbed John's arm.  
  
"Wait." Sholto pushed out one last smoky breath and ground the butt into the dirt.   
  
John waited for Sholto to continue as Sholto continued to grip his wrist. "What am I waiting for?"  
  
"You aren't the first heretofore straight man I've been involved with." He paused, scrubbing a hand over his face.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And it was bad. Isn't that much obvious?" Sholto clenched his jaw and cracked his knuckles one at a time. "I don't want you to hate me."  
  
John's breath came out in a fast puff that might have been described as a laugh. "It's a bit late for that."  
  
 "Look. War changes people. You end up doing things you never thought yourself capable of, and I don't fancy being one of those things." He paused again. "You'll regret this."  
  
"You really think that's what's happening here. You think, what, that I'm being manipulated by my environment? Jesus Christ." That was possibly more insulting than the impression John had before, that he had been used.  
  
"Then what is happening here?"  
  
John snorted. "Hell if I know. The moment I think I get it, you change the story. But I do know that I don't take kindly to people making my decisions for me."  
  
"That's not what I'm try-"  
  
"Oh really? That's a laugh riot." John really wished he had saved that extra cigarette for himself so that he'd have something to do with his hands besides clench them into fists.  
  
"John," Sholto started, pressing a knuckle to his uninjured brow, "you have to understand. I've had this conversation before. Practically verbatim. It doesn't change anything."  
  
"Okay," John paused, stretching the tension from his fingers and balling them into fists again. "Fine."  
  
"Is it really?"  
  
"It's as fine as it's going to be."  
  
"You're angry."  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Sorry, Major Obvious."  
  
Sholto chuckled once before his face returned to a more serious expression. "Trust me. We'll go home; you'll find some nice girl to warm your bed, and you'll move on. You'll wonder what you ever saw in me in the first place."  
  
John laughed wryly. He thought it sounded like bullshit, but, "If you say so."  
  
"I do."  
  
John scooted away from the warmth of Sholto's body and pushed himself to standing. He knocked the dirt from the back of his trousers and blinked into the darkness. At least he could comfort himself that he got an explanation, no matter how unsatisfactory, but he still felt deflated. And tired. God, he was tired. "I guess I'll see you around then, Major."  
  
"Thank you, Captain."  
  
John straightened his posture and turned on his heel towards the barracks, flexing and curling his fingers to work out the tension there. He only needed to get through a couple more weeks. Two weeks was easy. 


	7. Annie Laurie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John completed the stitches from brow to cheek while Sholto stared straight ahead. John's gaze flitted to Sholto's face between stitches to find his face impassive as ever, and he was suddenly gripped with irrational anger. Was there ever going to be any sign that he affected Sholto at all? His jaw clenched, and he took one deep breath before going back to the stitches. He kept his hand steady through sheer force of will as his anger and frustration smoldered."

As John turned back toward the entrance of the field hospital after giving his medics their assignments for inventory in preparation for redeployment, he found Major Sholto waiting, the cut on his face swollen. John strode over and silently saluted, and Major Sholto returned the salute.  
  
"What can I help you with today, Major?"  
  
Sholto pointed to the stitches on his face.  
  
"Have a seat." John gestured to a nearby chair and followed Sholto, grabbing a gooseneck lamp on the way. He pointed it at the side of Sholto's face and warned, "This is going to be bright," before flipping it on.  
  
The wound was swollen, the puffy flesh obscuring the stitches in some places, and bits of debris kept the wound from closing properly. "What did you do, face plant in some gravel?"  
  
"I suppose you could put it that way."  
  
John switched off the lamp and walked to the sink. As he scrubbed up, he said, "I told you that needed a bandage."  
  
"And I told you I couldn't see."  
  
"A fat lot of difference that makes when your eye is swollen shut." John dried his hands and turned off the water with a paper towel. He grabbed scissors, a suture kit, tweezers, saline, gauze, and anesthetic, dropped them on a tray, and put on a pair of gloves. As he switched the lamp back on, "Maybe next time you'll listen to your doctor's orders."  
  
Sholto shut the narrow slit that was his left eye as John metered the anesthetic. Before starting the injection, John pressed at the edges of the wound, and Sholto flinched. "I suppose that answers the question of whether it's tender."  
  
"It is."  
  
John braced his right hand on Sholto's scalp and leaned over him as he prepared to inject the anesthetic. "Ready?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
John started the injection and listened Sholto's deep, even breathing. This had to sting like a mother fucker, and John found himself cringing as he watched the liquid fill the inflamed tissue. "God, what did you get into? It wasn't nearly this bad this morning."  
  
"Firefight. Had a bunch of gravel fly in my face."  
  
John swallowed hard, his hand very nearly shaking as he drew out the needle. He dropped the syringe on a tray and worked out the tension in his hand out of Sholto's sight. "Was anyone hurt?"  
  
"No, touch wood."  
  
John moved to stand next to Sholto. As he touched his fingers behind Sholto's temple, he asked, "Could you tilt your head to the side?"  
  
Sholto let his head be maneuvered, and John grabbed a pair of scissors and slipped them under the first stitch. He braced Sholto's jaw against his thumb, and as he clipped the first stitch loose, Sholto flinched.  
  
John pulled his hands back. "I can wait until the anesthetic kicks in." It must have been more painful than he thought if just removing the stitches was making him flinch.  
  
"No, it's fine."  
  
He braced Sholto's head again, laying his fingers beside Sholto's ear and his thumb on Sholto's jaw. Just before he slipped the scissors under the second stitch, he asked, "Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
John carefully slid the scissors under each stitch and clipped, concentrating on not cutting the puffy skin straining each suture. With the last stitch cut free, John sighed and grabbed the tweezers. "I'm beginning to think I need to give you a lesson on wound care."  
  
"Maybe when we get home."  
  
"Nah," John started as he pulled the stitches from Sholto's skin, "I'm not working on leave." He pressed on Sholto's wound. "This should be numb now. Can you feel that?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good." John picked up a syringe of saline and some gauze. "I'm going to try to rinse out the debris, but if it won't come out. I'll have to get the wire brush."  
  
"All right."  
  
John started flushing the wound with the syringe in his right hand, using the gauze to keep the saline from dripping into Sholto's eyes or down his shirt. He tossed aside one saturated square and picked up another. "Do you have any plans for Christmas?"  
  
"Nothing concrete." A runaway rivulet of saline rolled down Sholto's face and neck, making a small pool on his suprasternal notch. John pressed a dry corner of gauze into the dip and backtracked the liquid's flow before flushing more debris and trading out the wet gauze for dry. Sholto's adam's apple bobbed, and he continued, "You?"  
  
John shrugged, hands still busy clearing debris, "I could spend it with my sister and her wife."  
  
"That sounds nice."  
  
John tossed aside another wet piece of gauze. "You don't know my sister."  
  
As John placed a final piece of gauze under Sholto's chin, a vein protruded momentarily on Sholto's neck. His hand grazed John's kneecap on the way to fold with the other in his lap. John flushed the last bit of dirt from the wound. "Well," he started as he grabbed tweezers to get a stubborn bit of rock, "I don't think it's infected. Just inflamed." John pulled the bit of gravel from the wound and picked up the suture kit. "But I'm going to give you some prophylactic antibiotics to be on the safe side. It'll be a lot harder to treat an infection in the middle of a convoy."  
  
"Sure."  
  
John started on the stitches. "I'd also recommend you take some ibuprofen or aspirin for the swelling."  
  
"All right."  
  
John completed the stitches from brow to cheek while Sholto stared straight ahead. John's gaze flitted to Sholto's face between stitches to find his face impassive as ever, and he was suddenly gripped with irrational anger. Was there ever going to be any sign that he affected Sholto at all? His jaw clenched, and he took one deep breath before going back to the stitches. He kept his hand steady through sheer force of will as his anger and frustration smoldered. He tried to swallow it down. He knew it was unfair. It was irresponsible for them to even start anything. If he were in the same position, he couldn't say what he would have done. And if he was being honest, it was an impossible situation.  
  
John finished the last stitch and turned back to his supply tray. "Shit. I forgot bandages."  
  
As John turned to walk to the supply cabinet, Sholto offered, "I don't need one."  
  
"Like hell you don't." John grabbed the bandages and tape from the supply closet and pulled up a chair next to Sholto, whose mouth was turned up just slightly in the corners. John smiled as one silent laugh escaped. "Are you winding me up?"  
  
Sholto's mouth twitched. "I would never do that, Captain."  
  
"Sure," John barbed. He pressed the bandages to Sholto's face, careful to keep them clear of his eyes as much as possible. Sholto's knuckles bumped John's knee as his hands rubbed down his thighs. John tossed the waste in the bin and followed it with his gloves. "All right," he started as he turned back to Sholto, "let's get that antibiotic injection, and we can get you out of here."  
  
John reached out his right hand, and Sholto took it to pull himself up. John wobbled a bit but kept his stance as Sholto's weight momentarily bore on his arm. John inhaled, catching Sholto's scent in his nostrils, and exhaled a quiet laugh. "You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now," John muttered.  
  
Without looking up from Sholto's chest, John pulled his hand from Sholto's grip and patted him once on the arm on his way to the cabinet holding the antibiotics. He grabbed his supplies and a fresh pair of gloves. As he snapped on his gloves and metered the antibiotic, he asked, "Do you have a side you prefer?"  
  
"No."  
  
"All right." John put the cap back on the needle and set it on the tray. "Anytime."  
  
"Of course," Sholto responded after a moment. He loosened his belt and turned around. He pulled down his trousers and pants a bit on one side, but John had to ease them out of the way a bit more to get a good injection site.  
  
"Sorry," he murmured as he stepped away to ready an alcohol swab. He swabbed the area and injected the medication. "All done," he said louder.  
  
As John threw the syringe in the proper container, Sholto put his uniform back together. When John turned around, he found Sholto watching him. John threw away the swab and gloves, avoiding Sholto's gaze as he went. He finally met Sholto's gaze as he asked, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"  
  
"No," Sholto replied. His gaze remained on John, the only flaw in the impassive expression a tongue that darted out. A move that John found himself mirroring. His heart rate accelerated, and he swallowed hard as he became very aware that there were other people in the tent.  "Thank you."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
Sholto stepped close enough to give John's shoulder a squeeze at arm's length, and then he strode from the tent.  
  
  
  
John found himself thinking of that shoulder squeeze a lot as their convoy made its way toward the border of Pakistan. He sat in the back seat of a Humvee, wearing flak jacket and helmet with a CLS kit strapped to his back and a rifle in his hands. It had been months since he last wore this gear. It wasn't often that he got outside of the gate, but his mind spent a lot of time back there.  
  
He supposed he should be looking forward to being home--to greeting his sister and Clara, to eating decent food and wearing comfortable clothes--but he felt more like he was mourning a loss than anticipating a pleasure. It wasn't as if he was going to be home long enough to enjoy it. He'd likely be back in this country before the end of January. It would have made more sense to just stay, but that was the army for you.  
  
But he adamantly avoided thinking about the fact that he was not likely to see Major Sholto again once they were dismissed from formation. It wasn't as if it would have made any difference. Sholto had rather firmly closed that door. It was obvious to John that he read too much into a simple squeeze of the shoulder.  
  
John's train of thought was interrupted by a loud boom, and the Humvee came to an abrupt stop. His posture snapped to attention as he listened. The TC leaned in to listen to his radio as gunfire started on their right. The soldier to John's left reached for his door handle, but the TC shouted, "Stay in the vehicle."  
  
John ducked down in his seat, but he left a sliver of space between his Kevlar and the bottom of the window. He peered through his sliver to spy a group of insurgents hunkered down in an irrigation furrow. He looked up and down the row. Though he only spotted one group, he was sure there were more. The boom that brought them to a halt was likely from an RPG, and it's wielder was likely dead already. So, depending on the proximity of air support, they'd be likely to engage.  
  
"Air support ETA twenty minutes," called out the TC. "Exit to the left of the vehicle. Do not engage until my say so."  
  
John half walked, half crawled, over the floor of the Humvee and hopped to the ground with the rest of the Humvee's inhabitants. As he crouched by the tire, he listened to shots hitting the armor of the vehicle and waited for the command to return fire.  
  
John watched the TC as he peered between vehicles. "They're on the move," he called after a moment. "Fire!"  
  
John jolted upright. Aimed. Fired. The insurgents scrambled from one furrow to the next. A bullet hit one in the shoulder, and he slid feet first into the furrow.  
  
As the insurgents dropped into the next furrow, John and the others returned to their crouched positions behind the Humvee. Between a volley of bullets, John heard someone shout, "Medic!" toward the front of the convoy.  
  
John walked in a crouch over to the TC and told him, "I'm going." The TC nodded.  
  
John ran up the line of vehicles until he found the soldier lying on the ground, a hole in the leg of his trousers and blood staining his shin. There was a fairly dry trough in the field just off the road, so John dragged the soldier into it. He removed his CLS kit and ripped it open.  
  
"What's your name, soldier?" John asked as he ripped away the fabric of the soldier's trousers.  
  
"Private Stuart Brock, Sir." His tibia was shattered. John lifted Private Brock's calf gingerly to find an exit wound on the inside. No evidence that it hit the other leg.  
  
"Do your friends call you Stu?" The bleeding wasn't bad. No arterial perforation.  
  
"Brock, Sir." John popped open a roll and a square pack of gauze.  
  
"All right, Brock. You're going to be fine, but your leg is broken. I need to move it, but you need to know; it's going to hurt like a bitch."  
  
"Yessir."  
  
John pressed a square of gauze firmly on the exit wound and began wrapping the leg. As he ripped a piece of tape to secure the bandage, he heard someone yell, "Eleven o'clock!"  
  
John dropped the tape and put his rifle to his shoulder just in time to see Sholto fire several three-round bursts into the body of a man charging towards the front of the convoy from the very furrow John was crouched in. As the body fell back into the field, John's eyes met Sholto's for just a moment before Sholto returned to his position by the Humvee.  
  
John secured the bandage on Brock's leg. He opened a splint and secured it in place on Brock's shin. Then he ran over to Major Sholto's position and crouched by the Humvee. "Sir, I need permission to request a MEDEVAC."  
  
"Granted," Sholto replied.  
  
John ran back to Brock and keyed up the MEDEVAC frequency on his radio. "I have a MEDEVAC request, over."  
  
"Unit on MEDEVAC frequency send, over."  
  
"Line 1," John gave their coordinates, radio frequency, and call sign, "Line 3: One delta, break. Line 4: One alpha, break. Line 5: One alpha, break. Line 6: X-ray. I repeat, X-ray, break," John gave the rest of the information.  
  
As he switched back to the unit's frequency, John heard the Harriers approach and took cover in the trench. He waited out the explosions until he heard the all clear on the radio. He breathed a long sigh. Perhaps being home wouldn't be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has stuck with me through the long pause, thank you so much. Your patience has been greatly appreciated as I work through some personal stuff. I'm glad to report that I've been back in the habit of writing daily for about 10 days now. I also have chapters 8 & 9 of this finished, and chapter 10 seems to be shaping up nicely. And don't worry, there is more porn to come. ;)
> 
> As always, many thanks to emmagrant01 for the beta. She keeps me right.


	8. FIBUA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John turned back to ponder Major Sholto's presence at the bar. Sholto wetted his lips with the contents of the rocks glass and watched a darts game in progress. Damn, he looked good. He had grown a short, gingery beard, and John rubbed his own stubble, feeling jealous of how much facial hair Sholto could grow in ten days. When John had attempted to quit shaving for a few days, the resulting beard had been patchy and itchy. And by the time it would have filled in and grown comfortable, leave would have already been more than half over. He was willing to bet Sholto's facial hair felt buttery and soft. Visions of his hands cupping hairy cheeks and lips brushing together fluttered into John's mind's eye, and he rubbed at his upper lip.

"Ready, steady, go."

John downed the shots lined up for him and slammed the glasses rim side down on the table. Whiskey, rum, vodka, tequila. He made an heroic effort not to grimace as the shots went down. As the last glass slammed wetly to the table, he took a quick look around. Two of the men at the table had finished, while the other three still struggled to down the last of their liquor. This kind of drinking was a younger man's game, so John actually felt pleased that he finished in the middle of the pack.

The loser of the game, a one-pip whose name John couldn't remember at the moment, took orders for the next round.

"Yeah," John pretended to ponder, "I'll take a double Ketel One and tonic. Or, you know, whatever's expensive." He grinned and winked.

"Oi! I don't make a captain's salary, thank you. You'll drink whatever I bring you."

"I don't think I should stand for this kind of insubordination," John joked, to which the lieutenant responded with a raised middle finger as he retreated to the bar.

John chuckled as he turned back to the table. He let the conversation at the table wash over him and sipped from his lukewarm, half-empty beer--only his second drink besides the ill-advised shots--and made eye contact with a beautiful olive-skinned brunette a few tables over. She was chatting with a group of four women and two men, but she paused to smile at him. He'd have to keep that in mind. Perhaps after the shots had kicked in, his body might be persuaded to move rhythmically with the music. Though the bar catered more to the billiards and darts playing crowd, they did play a selection of jaunty pop music in the background. And the woman's swaying hips as she chatted with her friends gave off the definite aura of someone who was itching to dance.

John added his shot glasses to the growing pyramid in the middle of the table as the one pip returned with the drinks.

"Ah, free booze. My favorite," John said as he took the cold pint from the now-slightly-more-broke soldier. He had to remember this kid's name. His sergeant had introduced them before they headed out for the bar. Something that started with a G, or maybe a J.

John shook the thought from his head and sipped his new beer. He grimaced at it. "I don't recall ordering water."

"What's the matter, Cap?" The lieutenant (Gordon! That was it) answered, sipping his beer with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Don't like it?"

John scowled askance at Gordon before pushing aside the new beer and picking up the old one. "Nah, I prefer a real drink, though I suppose you've proven that's not really your thing."

"I guess I'm just not as accustomed to putting hard to swallow things down my throat as you are," Gordon responded and pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

John sat back and smiled as Gordon took a sip from his own beer. He shrugged. "You got me there, Gordo. But I can give you some tips if you want them."

Gordon choked on his beer, and the chap next to him patted his back. "And on that note," John continued as he stood, "I'm going to the bar. That beer's up for grabs if anyone wants it."

"You don't have to tell me twice," John's sergeant chimed, dragging the glass towards him. John glanced over to the beautiful brunette, who caught his eye again. She really did have a lovely smile.

John sidled up to the bar and watched the masses mill about as he waited for the barman. His eyes scanned the booths along the back wall from corner to corner. He started to turn back to the bar when he realized he saw a familiar face. In the booth just one spot from the corner, next to a group of women who appeared to be playing some sort of game, sat Major James Sholto.

He sat with his back to the wall, sipping at something in a rocks glass and people-watching. Unsurprisingly, a book lay on the table beside him.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," John muttered.

"What'll it be?" Interrupted the barman.

"Um," John started, "pint."

"Of?"

John blinked. "Beer."

"What type, mate? I haven't got all night."

"Oh." John chuckled. "Doesn't matter. Something hoppy."

"All right." The barman turned to pull the draught, and John turned back to ponder Major Sholto's presence at the bar. Sholto wetted his lips with the contents of the rocks glass and watched a darts game in progress. Damn, he looked good. He had grown a short, gingery beard, and John rubbed his own stubble, feeling jealous of how much facial hair Sholto could grow in ten days. When John had attempted to quit shaving for a few days, the resulting beard had been patchy and itchy. And by the time it would have filled in and grown comfortable, leave would have already been more than half over. He was willing to bet Sholto's facial hair felt buttery and soft. Visions of his hands cupping hairy cheeks and lips brushing together fluttered into John's mind's eye, and he rubbed at his upper lip. He blinked slowly as the full weight of four shots slowly settled on him.

"Three pounds," the barman interrupted again.

"Oh, right," John replied as he cupped his hand around the cold glass. "I have a tab. John Watson."

The barman started to turn, but John stopped him. "Hang on a tick." John pointed. "You see that man over there?"

The barman peered over the bar. "Yeah."

"Do you know what he's drinking?"

"Um," he replied, pressing his lips together in thought, "Glenlivet 18, I think."

John whistled and shook his head, but he said, "Let me have a couple fingers of that."

The barman poured the drink and slid it over. "Enjoy."

John picked up the drinks. "Cheers."

John glanced at the table he came from. The soldiers were too busy ribbing on each other to notice what John was doing, so he spun on his heel and strode towards Sholto's table. As Sholto's gaze shifted, John's followed its movement to a couple animatedly flirting. When John turned his head back toward the direction he was walking, he found icy blue eyes staring back at him. They crinkled at the corners as a small, crooked smile formed on Sholto's face.

John made the last few steps to the table as his own mouth mirrored Sholto's expression. He slid the glass of scotch towards Sholto and said, "I've always heard it's not good to drink alone."

John kept his fingers wrapped around the glass as he waited for Sholto to reach for it. The corners of Sholto's mouth twitched again before he replied, "I'm surrounded by people."

As John pushed the glass farther across the table, he retorted, "Then call it a thank you for saving my life."

"I did no such thing."

"As I recall," John left the glass on the table as he brought that hand up to his face and tapped on his chin, "you shot a man who probably would have killed me."

"If I hadn't, you would have."

"Well, in that case," John cocked his head and slid the glass back towards himself. He watched the glass as he swirled the contents. "It is a nice glass of scotch. I'd be happy to take it off your hands if you'd rather I leave."

John watched Sholto from beneath his lashes as Sholto reached for the glass. "Let's not be hasty."

Their fingers brushed together as they transferred possession of the glass, and John slid into the seat opposite of Sholto. John's gaze settled on the gap at the collar of Sholto's long-sleeved, navy blue button-up. His eyelids fluttered slowly as he looked from neck to mouth and finally back up to eyes. He smiled and settled his chin on his knuckles. "I never pictured you as the crowded pub type."

"The people-watching at these places is hard to beat," Sholto replied as he sipped from his new scotch. "Wow. That's smooth. What is this?"

The hand under John's chin dropped to the table, along with his jaw. "Is that not what you were drinking?"

"No."

"Son of a-," John started as he tried to peer around the crowd to spy the barman, a chuckle bubbling up. "The rat bastard tricked me."

Sholto responded by watching his glass as he swirled its contents. He took a sip and licked his lips. "Aren't I lucky?"

John took a long sip of beer and watched Sholto over the rim of the glass. He felt another smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Finally, he gave into it and let his head loll back on the barrier between booths. As Sholto turned to watch the patrons, John casually threw out, "You could be if you wanted."

Sholto's adam's apple bobbed as he looked at John out of the corner of his eye. When he turned his eyes back to the bar, he asked, "Is that true?"

John's smile widened and his eyelids slowly oscillated as he nodded his head. "Yup."

Sholto swallowed again. He took a careful sip of his scotch, his gaze never leaving the glass. "And here I thought you hated me."

John shook his head. "Nope," he started as he let his head droop back into his hand, "it's hard to hate someone who saved your life."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," he paused, "but, you know, I get it, too." He gestured vaguely, closing his eyes, frowning, nodding. "It's okay."

"I'm gla-"

"But you should know," John interrupted. He leaned forward and pointed, and he paused again as his eyes tried to focus. "You're still wrong."

"You're drunk."

John swept that away with his hand. "Doesn't matter. Do you think I'm lying?"

Sholto responded with merely a small turn of his head away and then towards John.

John sat back and rested his head on the barrier again, feeling smug. As he stared at the gap in Sholto's collar, a new smile spread on his face. Sholto watched the bar patrons and his scotch glass, but his eyes crinkled, and the corner of his mouth crept upwards. The wound on his face was healing nicely. Did he owe John was glad he re-did the stitches himself when Sholto came in with those rocks in his face. That was the last time John touched him. God, he wanted to do it again. Touch him, not clean and re-dress a wound. And that fucking neck just kept taunting him from Sholto's open collar. From the looks of things, Sholto wasn't wearing a t-shirt underneath his shirt, unless it was a Simon Cowell-esque v-neck, and the picture of Sholto's chest hair peeking above a deep vee was amusingly odd, though the thought of touching the hair was appealing. And the shirt wasn't even fastened with buttons, but with silver snaps instead. They probably felt cold against Sholto's chest when he put it on but had warmed to body temperature. How would they feel under John's fingers as he popped them open?

John licked his lips. When his gaze finally settled on Sholto's eyes again, he realized Sholto was watching him. Sholto looked bemused and amused, and at that moment, John realized that his facial expressions had changed with his thoughts. But then John saw Sholto's gaze linger on his mouth. John took a sip of beer and ran his tongue along his lower lip.

Sholto mirrored, his tongue pressing between closed lips and dragging against his lower lip as he drew it back in. John could feel his breath and heartbeat quicken.

After a long pause, and at a loss of what else to do, John grabbed the end of the pen clipped to the book cover and used it to spin the book to face him. 100 Years of Solitude. "Huh," John grunted. "This is a bit more what I would have expected." He held up the book between them. "Is this more your taste?"

One single chuckle escaped Sholto's mouth. "Than bad pornography? Yes. But I quite enjoyed Harry Potter."

John let the book fall back on the table and jiggled it by the pen. "Are you enjoying this?"

Sholto scratched his beard. "It's an adjustment from the fare in Afghanistan, but I like it."

John didn't miss the smirk that momentarily appeared on Sholto's face. John sat back. He rested his head on the barrier and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good."

John watched Sholto through hooded eyelids. He felt so relaxed and content, and as he took a long sip of beer, he let his foot venture out to find Sholto's. He was quite pleased to find that Sholto's foot did not retreat.

"So, what do you say?" John asked with an extra nudge to Sholto's foot.

"Hmm? To what?"

John giggled. His head lolled to the side. "How come I'm the drunk one, and you're the one not following?"

Sholto shrugged. "I don't know how to answer that."

"Do you," John slurred slowly, "want to get out of here?"

Sholto stared at his scotch again, scraping circles against the wood of the table. He pressed his lips together before answering, "I still don't think that's a good idea."

Well, shit. John shrugged. "You can't blame a guy for trying." He grabbed a napkin from the stack by the wall and snatched the pen from the cover of Sholto's book. "But," he began as he wrote on the napkin, "if you change your mind or just want to get together. Here's my number at the barracks."

John slid the napkin across the table and plunked the pen down on top of it. As he scooted across the seat and stepped out of the booth, he said, "I hope to see you around, James."

John turned on his heel to return to his former table, but a firm, "Hold on," made him turn back. Sholto pulled the halves of the napkin apart by the fold. Then he wrote something on the clean half.

"Here," Sholto finished, handing John the napkin. It had a phone number on it, and John smiled and winked as he slipped it into his breast pocket.

John started back to his table of origin but changed his direction when he realized his beer was almost empty. As he sidled back up to the bar, he downed the last gulp and thumped the glass down on the bar top. He waited. The barman passed him by, probably fearing his comeuppance. John chuckled to himself as his hand settled over the napkin in his pocket.

"I was afraid you had left," a voice purred in his ear. John turned to find the brunette from earlier standing next to him.

"Oh," John blurted, "hello. No. Haven't left yet."

"Good. I noticed you watching me, and I thought it would be a shame if you left before we could have a flirt."

"Well, I can probably help you out with that. Buy you a drink?"

"Jack and ginger. Please." She smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear while John turned back and leaned over the bar to catch the barman's attention. He stood for a moment, back stretched awkwardly as he leaned sideways over the bartop, before he felt a firm tap--a poke, even--at his shoulder.

Before he could turn his head completely to eye the tapper, his head was knocked backward with an uppercut to the nose. His vision blurred with saline, and he felt warm, thick liquid drip down his lips and chin. The pain came next, exploding into his sinuses.  He leaned his head down to keep the blood from dripping down his throat and palpated the bridge of his nose. At least it wasn't broken, miracle of miracles.

"Oh my God," he heard the brunette cry as a cocktail napkin appeared in delicate fingers below his nose. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

John couldn't see, as tears still stubbornly flowed behind his eyelids, but he was pretty sure the admonishment wasn't directed towards him. "Oi," he heard a gruff, masculine voice yell, "she came here with me, you wanker."

John blinked back the tears clouding his vision to see a tallish, skinny man standing with his arms defiantly crossing his chest. There was his second mistake. John dabbed at the blood dripping from his nose as a dangerous smile spread across his face.

A straight-fingered blow to the adam's apple sent the skinny man's hands to his neck. A punch to the gut put him off balance, and a leg swept behind the calf knocked him flat on his back.

John delivered the revenge blow to skinny man's nose once, twice. But as he reared back for the third, something stopped him. He registered a crashing noise and a creeping, cold wetness on his left sleeve before the sting of alcohol seeping into open wounds made him stumble sideways.

He caught glimpse of the most barrel-y chest he had ever seen before the crook of a thick elbow wrapped in front of his neck and pulled sharply upwards. The man holding him was significantly taller, lifting John so he couldn't catch any footing on the slippery ground. John's heel connected with shins. He tried to turn his body to jab an elbow into the man's ribs, but the man still lifted him high enough to keep him from gaining traction. An elbow connected weakly with soft flesh. The edges of John's vision blurred.

God damn it; if he survived two years in Afghanistan only to die in a bar fight, he was going to be so fucking angry. He hunched his shoulders and pressed his chin down. He pried back the fingers of barrel man's fingers.

Finally, suddenly, blood rushed back to his brain. He stumbled forward and caught himself on his knees. Wheezing in giant gulps of air, he fought a wave of nausea and waited for the world to right itself. The skinny man started to sit up next to him, but John used what strength and balance he had gained to shove him back again. Fury boiled in his gut, but he would have to deal with this guy later. First he had to find out why barrel man released him.

John swallowed and stretched his neck as he turned, ready to come out swinging. But one loud, painful guffaw burst from his mouth when he saw the assailant on his knees, his hands entwined behind his head. Sholto clenched his fist over the man's fingers, pressing them together and contorting them into painful positions, and forced his knee into the man's spine. Sholto's face was a mask of concentration even as the man on his knees below him howled and writhed.

"You're going to break my fingers," he shouted.

Sholto didn't respond. He kept his grip firm and his knee still. Not even the slightest tremor in his leg showed his effort.

"Break it up," a booming voice shouted, and John turned to see a man of roughly the same size as barrel man pushing aside the crowd of gawkers. When John turned back, Sholto stood up straight, hands on hips and chest heaving, though his expression still looked stoic. The man he released shook out his hands and slowly stood up.

"All four of you, out," the bouncer finished. The initial instigator whined from his position on the floor that John had started it, and look at his face. John put out a hand to get the bouncer's attention and muttered, "I just need to pay my tab."

The bouncer nodded curtly, so John turned back to the bar to pay for his drinks, giving the brunette woman a weak smile beneath his bloody nose.

"I'm so sorry," she cringed, grabbing a handful of cocktail napkins from the bar top and handing them to John. He took them from her with a, "Thanks," and dabbed at his nose. The bleeding had nearly stopped, so he tried not to mess with it too much, lest the clots break. "Just so you know," the woman continued, "he's not my boyfriend."

John took his debit card and slip from the barman. "I had a feeling," he said as he signed the slip and slid it back across the counter. He held the wadded napkins between his lesser fingers and palm and put his card back in its proper place.

"I feel so terrible."

John stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. "Don't."

"Is there anything I can do?" She asked as Sholto returned to the scene, throwing on his coat. He raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the door. "Would you like my number?"

John raised a finger to Sholto and nodded in return. "No offense," he said as he turned his head back to her, "but I don't think that's a great idea."

She nodded wearily. John placed the hand without the napkins over hers before striding towards the door. Eyes trained on the seam across the center of Sholto's coat, John made his way towards the front door. His fists clenched compulsively, etching crescents into his palms and crushing the bloody napkins. The only relief from John's seething desire to punch his choker in the chin was the vision of him flailing in Sholto's grip. A smile crested on John's lips as they stepped into the cold mid-December air.

"Oh shit," he sighed as the door closed behind them. His coat.

He opened the door back, but the bouncer shook his head. "No way."

"I forgot my coat."

The bouncer shook his head again. "Have someone bring it to you. You're not getting back in."

Fuck. He didn't have a mobile. Nor did he know anyone's number by heart. His sergeant's number was written on a pad in the barracks, but a fat lot of good that did him now. John stepped backwards out of the doorway and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Fucking arsehole piece of fucking shit," John spat.

As he stepped onto the pavement, Sholto hailed a cab from the kerb. "Don't you have a coat?"

John nodded backwards as the cab pulled up. "Inside." He looked down the street to see barrel man and skinny guy hobbling away. He smiled and chuckled to himself. Served them right. Not that he was faring much better.

"John," Sholto called. John turned his head back to see Sholto holding the door open to the cab. "Get in the cab."

John marched towards the open door, but a voice shouting, "No," from within the cab stopped him. He stooped to eye the driver through the half-open window.

"You're not getting in this cab, mate. I won't have you ruining my seats."

"You can't be serious," John replied.

Sholto stepped away from the open door with an exasperated sigh and rapped on the front window. He leaned between John and the cabbie as the window rolled down the rest of the way. John watched Sholto place his elbows on the windowsill and converse quietly with the cabbie. God, this night had taken a weird turn. He puffed out a foggy breath and winced at the pain in his sinuses. He pulled his left hand from his pocket and pressed gingerly at his cheekbones. They were tender and probably quickly turning purple. He needed to get some ice on his nose and get the glass out of his shoulder.

John was startled out of his assessment by a car door slam. And in a startling break from his usual behavior, Sholto flipped the bird as the cab sped off. "What a prick," he muttered before he walked back up the pavement towards John, fishing in his pockets. He pulled out a hat and a pair of gloves and held them before John.

"Thanks," John said as he pulled the hat over his head and picked up the gloves.

Sholto looked up the road as he thrust his hands into his pockets. "I'm not far from here. We can hoof it."

"All right."

"Don't think you'll bleed to death in the interim?" He asked with a twitch of his mouth.

"Depends," John replied, rubbing his arms. "How far?"

"Come on." Sholto patted John's good arm. "Let's get you patched up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the new chapter, and thank you to those who have left kudos and comments. I know I need to reply to the comments I have, and I should get to those tomorrow. I know I'm terrible at responding to comments, but please don't think I don't appreciate them. They make me so happy; I just get a little overwhelmed by them and have trouble forming responses that they deserve.
> 
> And as always, thanks to emmagrant01 for the beta.


	9. Corgi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wasn't kidding when I said you could get lucky tonight," John said as he splayed his hand up Sholto's abdomen and swept his thumbs down the trail of hair leading down from Sholto's navel. "But I can stop if you want me to."

"Oh fuck, it's cold," John huffed as he stamped his feet on the landing inside Sholto's front door, trying to bring feeling back into his toes. The pleasant buzz from the bar had been well and truly eradicated by the short walk to Sholto's home. He lived in a small house at the end of a terrace. As far as John could tell, the bottom floor consisted of a spartan living room, a kitchen, and nothing else. He only saw one door at the top of the stairs straight ahead of them.

Sholto nudged John farther through into the entryway until he could close the front door behind them. "We'll get you warmed up," he said as he kicked it shut and rubbed vigorously at John's right arm. "But maybe we should prioritize that shoulder. Do you want to leave the hat on?"

"No, that's all right." John pulled the hat off his head to a prickle of static and removed the gloves with his teeth. "Have you lived here long?" John asked as he handed the accessories back to Sholto and smoothed down his hair.

"Technically," Sholto said as he took them, "fourteen months."

"So, two then?" John surveyed the sparse furniture and bland, empty walls as he palpated his swollen nose.

Sholto nodded as he hung up his coat on a hook behind the front door, stuffing the gloves and hat back into his pockets. "I haven't had time to get a decorator in." He gestured towards the kitchen, through the living room. "The toilet is through the kitchen if you want to clean up. I'll see if I can find my first-aid kit."

"Sure." John wiped his hands on his jeans as he walked through the living room, probably spreading blood on them. Fuck it, they were probably stained by now anyway. John walked past a small kitchen table, through the galley kitchen, and into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked behind him. A white flannel and hand towel hung on a bar by the sink, a stylized "S" embroidered on the end of the towel. Though John checked every nook and cranny for another flannel, even checking the medicine cabinet, he did not come across any.

He was just reaching for some loo paper when Sholto rapped lightly on the door and peeked in. "I found the- What are you doing?"

John tore the wad of paper from the roll and gestured with it. "Cleaning up."

"Just use the fucking flannel."

"This is fine." John turned on the sink and wet the paper. He squeezed out the excess water and pressed it to his upper lip. But when tried to wipe the blood away, bits of paper sloughed off and stuck to his skin, plastering his face with a flimsy, disgusting papier mache.

Sholto huffed as he swung the door open the rest of the way. He set a bag of frozen peas on the shelf above the sink and tore the flannel from the bar, nearly taking the hand towel with it. Scowling, he flipped on the water and soaked the flannel. John dropped the wad of loo paper in the bin and furrowed his brows, with some difficulty, while Sholto wrung extra water from the pristine flannel. As he rubbed gingerly above John's upper lip, a small, crooked smile crept up.

"I'm beginning to think you might need a lesson in wound care," Sholto mimicked.

"Well, perhaps if someone was willing to put a little money down on their loo rolls."

Sholto shrugged. "It's the guest bathroom."

John laughed as Sholto rinsed the flannel. "Cheap bastard."

Sholto smirked crookedly and wrung pink-tinged water from the flannel. As he balanced John's chin on his thumb and wiped below John's mouth, his smirk grew. "I do believe that's insubordination."

John smiled in return as the flannel swiped across his lower lip. His tongue instinctively darted out to lick the water away as he raised an eyebrow, ignoring the throb in his sinuses that came with it. "Shall I drop and give you twenty?"

Sholto rinsed the flannel again, dropping it into the sink. As he stopped the drain and filled the sink, he grabbed the bag of peas and thrust it into John's hands. "Not on that shoulder," he replied with a wink, stopping the flow of water with a flick of the wrist, and walked out into the kitchen.

John balanced the peas on his nose and followed. He stepped carefully through the corridor of grey granite and white appliances while he kept an eye on Sholto through the gap between his cheeks and frozen peas. Sholto opened his first aid kit, which ended up being a CLS bag. "Are you supposed to have that?" John teased.

"Shh."

Sholto finished laying out supplies from the bag and lining them up, everything ordered and organized, laying parallel to each other. John supposed if one were take a ruler and draw lines away from each item, the lines would never meet. He set the peas down a respectable distance from Sholto's workspace and pulled his right arm from his cardigan, pulling it over his head and then peeling it away from his injured arm. Bits of glass tinkled to the floor.

John pulled his right arm free from the shirt and attempted to catch any glass that might fall as he took it off the rest of the way. Sholto took the ball of fabric from John's hand and set it down on the table. "I'll get it," he said as John started to pull the hem of his t-shirt from his trousers. "Let me help you with that."

Sholto's hands slipped under John's t-shirt at his waist, sliding over his abdomen and around to his back, taking the t-shirt up with them. John barely had time to react before Sholto tugged the last bit of hem from John's jeans. His knuckles brushed against John's spine, and that's when John's body decided it was a good time to engage the vocal chords as he breathed out. Sholto's hands froze for a moment so short that John thought he might be imagining it before he pulling up the t-shirt, though the back of his fingers still skimmed over John's sides. Sholto helped John pull his right arm from the t-shirt and get the fabric over his head.

Sholto cringed as he started to peel the left sleeve from John's arm and dried blood stuck the sleeve to John's skin. "Am I hurting you?"

"No, it's fine. You don't have to be so concerned," John chuckled.

After a bit of cajoling, the t-shirt pulled free of John's arm. Only a bit of oozing came from the cuts, so John considered it a success. He plopped down in one of the chairs while Sholto dragged a chair over and sat.

John tilted his head back and balanced the frozen peas on his nose while Sholto started picking out pieces of glass with his tweezers. John closed his eyes. Jesus, the peas felt good on his sinuses. With any luck he might even be able to breathe through his nose again. John opened his mouth to take a deep breath and relaxed into the chair, letting his left hand rest on Sholto's knee.

"This isn't actually that bad," Sholto said.

"Hmm? Oh. Well, he did have a cardigan and two shirts to contend with." At this, John flexed his muscles, keeping the peas perilously balanced on his nose.

Sholto chuckled. "Captain John H. Watson, certified medical badass."

"You're God damn right." Another bit of glass dislodged.

The tweezers clinked on the table, and soon after, John felt ointment being applied to the cuts. He stretched his fingers against Sholto's knee and drew his nails along the denim as they curled back. Sholto cleared his throat, "So tell me why I'm wrong."

John's eyes looked side to side as his brows furrowed again. Wait, "What?"

"At the bar, you said I wa-"

"Oh," John interrupted, "right. Right. Yeah."

After a long pause, Sholto asked, "So?"

John huffed. "Um, I don't know; I don't know what you want me to say. You're wrong because you're wrong. I'm not," John gestured vaguely, "whoever this other guy was. If you're expecting me to suddenly have some sort of identity crisis and be disgusted by our--" John searched for the right word, his left fist clenching against Sholto's knee "--relationship, you're going to be waiting a long time. I came to terms with all that before you kissed me. And I wouldn't have come back for more if I wasn't certain."

Sholto sat still for a moment before he seemed to come back to himself, picking up a bandage and smoothing it down on John's skin. John eased the tension in his hands and readjusted the peas. "Well, that puts you ahead of the curve."

"I'd like to think I gained a little maturity in my thirty-plus years on the planet," John spat. He could feel the anger pressing hard and insistent against his throat. "Do you think I would have hit on you tonight if this--" he waved his finger between them "--had anything to do with anything but us. Was it surprising to be so fucking attracted to a man? Sure."

"Joh-"

"I'm not finished, and you'll fucking listen. Okay, so I like pussy, and I like cock. Fine. It's all fine. Apparently, I'm bisexual. Who knew? And either I'll pursue another relationship with a man in the future, or I won't. But it doesn't fucking matter. Why are you convinced that it does? Do you think I'm some sort of repressed homophobe? Fuck you. I thought you had more respect for me than that." John took a deep breath. He hadn't realized he was quite so angry until that bit of verbal diarrhea. Also, he felt a little silly for giving a diatribe with peas perched on his nose, but there it was. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair again. _Put that in your pipe and smoke it._

John heard Sholto's chair scrape against the kitchen floor. _Fine, leave,_ John thought, _throw your little tem-_ But his thoughts were cut off when hands grabbed his face and pulled him roughly up to a pair of lips. Sholto kissed him hard, and it was a little bit painful. But damn, it felt good. So fucking good. John's mouth fell open with no input from his brain, but Sholto didn't venture to deepen the kiss. Instead, he drew John's lower lip into his mouth, all scraping teeth and suction, and John panted into it, suddenly so turned on but still so angry. As Sholto pulled away, a loud smacking sound echoed in the kitchen. Sholto ran his thumb over John's mouth, which opened with an exhale.

John pulled the peas off his face and dropped them on the table, leaning into Sholto's touch. He gripped the sides of Sholto's shirt, feeling lightheaded. "That wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting."

"It was a good speech."

"Oh."

"And I'm sorry."

"Good."

Sholto's thumb kept traversing John's bottom lip, sweeping back and forth over the skin slightly dampened with saliva. The skin felt tender, still engorged from the hard kiss, and the thumb teased at it, never quite satisfying the urge it represented. John wanted to suck it. He wanted to feel the rough skin on his tongue and taste him and make him ache for John. He grabbed Sholto's wrist in both of his hands and dipped his head. The rough pad of Sholto's thumb rubbed against John's tongue as John closed his mouth around it. He pressed it to the roof of his mouth and sucked, dragging his tongue up the length of it. As he licked back down to the joint, he made a point to look at Sholto in the eye.

"Fuck, John," he cursed softly, his eyelids hooded. His stance faltered, and John smiled around his thumb. He took a breath and sucked again, slowly pulling Sholto's thumb out and dipping back down again, eliciting a lovely noise. Oh, this man was intoxicating, and John wanted to make him loud, make him moan John's name again and again. John released Sholto's thumb, and as it slowly, dazedly floated back to Sholto's side, John tugged him closer by the waistband of his jeans.

John pressed his lips to the skin in the small gap below the last snap of Sholto's shirt and above his waistband. God, he wished he could breathe through his nose. He wanted to smell Sholto. He wanted to press his face to Sholto's chest and just breathe. He popped open the first snap and hummed softly as Sholto's skin slowly came into view. Ha, he knew Sholto wasn't wearing a t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Sholto asked in a rough voice barely above a whisper, his hands landing gingerly on John's shoulders.

John popped open another snap, tasting the skin beneath it and chasing the trail made by his tongue with the tips of his fingers. "That's a stupid question."

"I don't understand."

"I wasn't kidding when I said you could get lucky tonight," John said as he splayed his hand up Sholto's abdomen and swept his thumbs down the trail of hair leading down from Sholto's navel. "But I can stop if you want me to."

Sholto's hands swept up from John's shoulders to cradle his neck, and John settled back against them as he looked up at Sholto, waiting. All the while, his thumbs kept up their caress, smoothing down crisp hairs only to tease them back up again, dipping a bit lower below Sholto's waistband each time. John was so turned on, already uncomfortably strained in his trousers, and they had barely gotten started. He didn't want to stop. Oh God, he didn't want to stop.

"Please, don't stop," finally came Sholto's rough reply.

Oh, fuck yes. When John started, he had wanted to take it slowly, reveal Sholto's bare skin bit by bit and take it all in. Nothing furtive or rushed, just a chance to feel and explore. But instead, Sholto's reply and the naked need in his voice shot right down John's spine. He abandoned the snaps and went to work on Sholto's belt. He rushed through the button and the zip and yanked down Sholto's pants and trousers in one move.

Finally, John paused just to take in the sight. James Sholto, nearly naked before him, and about God damn time. John skated his fingertips up and down Sholto's thighs, watching goosebumps rise in their wake, watching Sholto's hips and cock twitch. He reached under Sholto's shirt to press his hand to Sholto's heart and trail his fingers through the gingery blond curls adorning his chest, down his abdomen, and finally through the treasure trail that John had thought so many times about kissing. That could wait. Instead, John swept his hand through the thatch of hair and the base of Sholto's cock and reached down to cup his balls. Sholto's hands remained fixed to John's neck, his thumbs massaging behind John's ears.

As John pressed his fingers back and up to rub soft circles against Sholto's perineum, he looked up. Sholto tilted his head back and groaned, widening his stance. And John was proud to say that he did that. Oh, how he was tempted to act out every dream and fantasy he'd had over the weeks. Sholto's adam's apple bobbed enticingly with each sound and swallow. John wanted to lick it, but that would have to be another checkbox to add to the list of things he wanted to do later.

"Lose the shirt, will you?" John commanded, letting his breath warm Sholto's cock. A smile quirking his lips, Sholto pulled the snaps free and shook the shirt from his arms.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," John breathed as his gaze wandered its way back down. Sholto murmured something in reply, but John was too distracted by a bead of precome on the tip of Sholto's cock. He gave into temptation easily, licking the liquid from the tip, dragging his tongue across the slit like it was an ice cream cone. He drew his tongue back into his mouth and tasted this bit of Sholto, salty and viscous in his mouth. He wanted to do that again.

John brought his hand back up to brace the base of Sholto's cock in the crook between his thumb and fingers and licked. He pressed the flat of his tongue to Sholto's frenulum and dragged it up to the slit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before pulling away. He swirled his tongue around the head. He wetted his lips and let them slide lightly over the head as Sholto's grip pulsed on his neck. He pulled the foreskin up enough to press the tip of his tongue between the foreskin and glans. Sholto really had a lovely prick, thick and straight and rosy, standing out in perfect contrast to his ginger-blond curls and pale skin.

John wrapped his fingers around Sholto's cock and squeezed gently, pulsing his fingers up the length of it like a wave, causing another bead of precome to appear. John licked it off again and sucked Sholto's glans into his mouth, swirling his tongue around to get every bit of precome into his mouth. He hummed at the taste, the feel of the spongy head against his tongue. God, it was addicting. He could have stayed there forever, teasing out bits of precome as Sholto massaged his neck.

"John," Sholto huffed, taking in a ragged breath as John sucked and massaged Sholto's frenulum with his tongue. He squeezed again, willing more precome to rise to the surface, as Sholto's fingers tangled in his hair, raising goose pimples on John's scalp. Oh God, he didn't want to let go. His cock was throbbing in his jeans, straining, aching for attention. But he didn't want to let go of Sholto's cock or stop touching his skin. His lungs burned from holding his breath, but if he could just hold on for a little bit longer, he could keep feeling Sholto come apart in his hands, panting and cursing, and struggling to stay still.

John lifted his head abruptly, blew the air from his lungs, and took a deep breath. "Sorry," he panted, "had to breathe."

"It's all right," Sholto replied, running his fingers through his hair, "wow." John dropped his hands to his knees and concentrated on breathing for a moment, willing his heart rate to slow as a grin spread on his face. Oh, this was fun. John smiled lazily at Sholto, feeling a little smug, before leaning forward and planting a kiss on Sholto's hipbone.

"Come here," Sholto rasped. He grabbed John's right hand and pulled John abruptly to his feet. As Sholto threw his free arm around John's back and pulled their bodies flush, John could feel Sholto's heart pounding against the back of his hand where it was trapped between them. John gripped the back of Sholto's neck and pulled him down, crashing their mouths together and ignoring the pain in his nose. Perhaps luckily for him, Sholto didn't forget about John's bruising, quickly breaking from John's mouth and stooping to his neck.

Teeth grazed and a tongue pressed to John's pulse point, and John breathed, "James." Groaning as Sholto sucked gently, his stomach pressing to Sholto's hard, wet cock, his hips canting in search of something, anything, John groaned, "Leave a mark."

Sholto growled against his neck, and John felt a bloom of pain and pressure that left his knees weak and his cock throbbing. His hand was still trapped between their bodies, and he struggled to pull it free, tugging and flexing his hand until it finally slipped out. He squeezed Sholto's arse, pressing them together, his muscular coordination useless in his search for more contact. Fuck his jeans.

He reached between them and fumbled with the button, struggling to pull it free with only his non-dominant hand. Shit. It wasn't coming free. John growled in frustration and thumped his fist against his thigh. But then Sholto stood, reached between them, and yanked open the button. He stopped as he grabbed the pull tab, rumbling, "Let's go upstairs."

"God yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always:
> 
> Thanks to emmagrant01 for the beta  
> Sorry for the delay in getting this posted  
> Sorry for not replying to comments in a timely manner
> 
> (In case you're confused, Corgi stands for "CO's really good idea.")


	10. Pressing Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted more, and not just stimulation. He couldn't put up with their only contact being fingers and mouths for another second. He needed to feel the warmth of Sholto's body against his. He needed mouths and lips and hands exploring. He needed shared breath, shared pleasure. He needed- "Fuck me."

Sholto's bedroom was much more inviting than the rest of his house. Everything about it was cozy, from the overstuffed armchair and ottoman to the musty smell of paperbacks to the large bed with the tall, dark, and handsome headboard. Of course, John didn't notice any of it as he was being nudged backwards towards the bed via mouth and hips. His fingers tangled in Sholto's hair as he stumbled backwards, his erection still trapped in his damned jeans. Every inch of clothing felt stifling, constricting and prickly, but John could barely gather the coordination to step out of his shoes when Sholto was being so insistent. And his mouth and hands felt so fucking good.

Finally, John’s arse landed on the bed, and Sholto eased down the zipper on his jeans. John's erection sprang forth only to be hindered again by his damned pants. Fuck, he wanted them off.

John threw himself flat onto his back and planted his feet, canting his hips so that Sholto could pull down his pants and jeans. Which he did far too slowly until the last of John’s clothes were around his ankles. John scrambled out of them and kicked them to the side as Sholto’s mouth descended on him. He nibbled and sucked at John’s lips as he urged John backwards, pressing his chest against John’s . Finally, he broke the kiss as John’s shoulders hit the mattress, trailing his fingers down John’s chest as he moved to kneel.

"God, James. Please," John huffed. His eyes slammed shut, and he squirmed against the mattress, his body taut with the suspense.

Finally, Sholto pressed his face to the juncture between thigh and groin and breathed. His beard and breath were light, tickling John's hypersensitive thigh and testicles. John giggled, high and loud and involuntary, and Sholto stopped, his head peeking up like a prairie dog looking for predators, which only made John giggle more.

"Sorry." He laughed, struggling to get control of his body. “Sorry sorry.” Finally, he sighed. The laughs subsided. "Tickles."

Sholto murmured something that John couldn’t quite catch. But just as he was about to ask about it, John was shut up thoroughly and resolutely by a tongue swiping up his perineum and between his balls before stopping at the base of his cock. John’s head fell back to the mattress; he shuddered, and the tongue made its path once more. Fuck, that felt good.

"Mm," Sholto hummed before sweeping his tongue up the underside of John's cock, stopping just short of the head, forcing a puff of air from John’s lungs. "You taste amazing, John."

John shuddered and made a guttural sound, already rendered speechless. God he was so turned on, and he was aching for relief, but just some pressure to take the edge off. He wanted to be in Sholto’s mouth or fist. Or anywhere really. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he wanted more. But he didn't want to come yet. Oh no, he wanted this to last. He wanted them to take their time, get to know each other's bodies.

Sholto pushed John's thighs apart, crashing his knees against the mattress, and dove down. John had just started to lift his head when he felt Sholto's tongue, hot and wet and insistent, against his perineum. The tongue made wide circles, pressing to the base of John's balls and sweeping down to dip just slightly between John's cheeks. And John could feel Sholto's breath huffing, hot and fast, against his testicles and thigh.

"Oh God, that's filthy," John groaned and spread his legs wider still, propping his toes on the bed frame. His hips moved of their own volition, making circles in counterpoint to Sholto's tongue. As Sholto moaned and rumbled, his voice vibrated against John's body, traveling straight up his cock, making it twitch.

A bead of precome dripped, warm and sticky, onto John's belly, and Sholto had barely even touched his cock yet. His tongue had only just made it up to his balls, massaging between and sweeping over. "Yeah," John breathed, running his fingers through Sholto's hair, "so good." Fuck, yeah. More.

Sholto's arms wrapped up and around John's thighs, trapping them, holding John’s hips still, though they still tried to jerk and roll. The tips of Sholto’s fingers pressed hard against John's inner thighs, spreading John's legs impossibly farther open and pulling him down until his arse was barely on the mattress. He weighed John's testicle on his tongue and wrapped his lips over it, sucking it into his mouth. John felt the hot, insistent flat of a tongue nudging and massaging as a groan vibrated through both of them.

And then, as if Sholto's patience had run out just as John's had, he swallowed John whole. Oh God, oh God. John felt his glans hit the back of Sholto's throat and shuddered with the effort of keeping his hips still. He groaned long and loud as he watched Sholto's nose press into his pubic hair. A hot huff of breath ruffled John's hair as Sholto pulled back and slid down again. And then he did that thing with his tongue. The thing that John could not define, that he had dreamt about and fantasized about and wanked to more times than he could count. “What-” he huffed, unable to continue his thought.

John's legs pulled against Sholto's arms in a convulsion of pleasure. Sholto released his thighs, and John's feet swung back down to land on Sholto's shoulders. Finally, John was able to wallow in the feeling, circling his hips just a touch. He tried to remain mindful of Sholto's shoulders. He didn't want to push down on them too hard, but it was difficult when Sholto insisted on doing that thing with his tongue, something between a wave and a wriggle that felt like it was everywhere at once. When he insisted on splaying large hands on John's arse, pressing thumbs against perineum. When John could feel Sholto's saliva slowly dripping down his bollocks.

Sholto's thumbs, slick with saliva, dipped down between John's cheeks, sweeping back up to slick themselves, then dipping down farther. And farther. And farther. John's hips tilted, and his feet pushed into shoulders despite his best efforts. And though he felt trepidation about where it might lead, at that moment all he could do was will Sholto's fingers down and tip up his own hips. Though he tried to make himself still, John couldn’t stop moving, pressing himself into that fucking gorgeous, talented mouth and against Sholto’s fingers. Even the buildup felt incredible, and when the pad of Sholto's thumb finally slid across John's hole, he felt his whole world collapse to that point of contact.

John was finally able to will himself still as Sholto teased at that sensitive bit of flesh. Though he was well and truly past speech, his mind echoed with a chorus of, oh yeah, right there, more, God please, more.

Sholto pulled off John's cock with a wet slurp, and John groaned in an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. His hips slowly drifted down to the mattress, and he realized that Sholto was no longer kneeling on the floor. He crouched between John’s legs, halfway on the bed.

When John’s hips finally met the bed again, Sholto resumed his position and tugged John towards him until John’s pelvis rested on the edge of the bed. He leaned his head against John's thigh, his breath hot and fast against John's groin. His beard tickled against John's skin, and John was overcome with images of Sholto rubbing his face over John's body, the hair of his beard smooth against John's skin. The circling and pressing of Sholto's thumb grew more purposeful, more insistent, until finally, Sholto huffed, "May I?"

"Yes," John blurted. "God yes. Please."

Sholto leaned over, John's feet trailing with him, and rummaged underneath the mattress near the head of the bed. After a moment, he pulled out a small plastic bottle and inspected the bottom.

"You hide your lube?"

"No," Sholto replied as he squeezed some onto his fingers. "It's convenient."

John opened his mouth to make some sort of retort, but his brain was short circuited by cold, wet fingers sliding between his cheeks. Oh, yes. The tip of Sholto's finger pressed and circled at John's hole until finally it coaxed him open.

John took a ragged breath. God, it was weird, but it felt good. It was more sensitive than he would have expected, and the smooth slide of Sholto's finger, pushing and pulling, slowly easing further in as his thumb drew circles on John's perineum, made even breathing a nearly impossible task.

"Have you ever done this before?" Sholto asked, pressing a kiss to John's thigh. God, the things John wanted to do with that beard.

"Not like this,"John huffed as he rocked into Sholto's touch.

"When?"

"A girlfriend tried it once," John groaned as Sholto's thumb pressed against his perineum and slid up between his testicles. "She never could find the prost- Oh my God," he choked out, "there it is. There it is. Yeah, yeah."

Shit. "So good." John rocked and writhed against Sholto's fingers. "So good." Every brush of Sholto's fingertip against John's prostate sent a jolt of electricity through John. Almost like a miniature orgasm. But he wanted more.

Finally, he swung his feet off Sholto's shoulders and planted them on the box spring. His hips moved of their own accord, seeking more contact, though they didn't seem to know where to find it. And John was vaguely aware that he was making some sort of noise, but none of that mattered. The whole world at that moment existed on the point of contact between the two men and the panted breaths against John's thigh.

"Fuck," John heard from somewhere far away, uncertain whether it was his voice of Sholto's, but when he heard, "More," spoken in a keening whine, he knew that must have been himself.

Sholto pulled his finger from John's body, and all of John's breath went with it.  He writhed. The slick, sensitive flesh inside him felt bereft, though every movement only piqued his arousal, reminded him of how good it felt to have Sholto inside him. "Wow," he breathed, rubbing a hand over his face as he opened his eyes, surprised to see a warmly lit ceiling above him, though what he expected to see, he didn't know.

But then two fingers were sliding slowly into him, bringing a whole new dimension of feeling, mixing pleasure and discomfort in a way that only made him want more, and blocking out any semblance of thought John had regained in the past seconds. The fingers circled against John's prostate. They spread and twisted and thrust, and then Sholto's tongue was back on John's skin, laving his balls, small noises sending vibrations into John's skin.

Sholto's free hand slid around John's thigh, pressing against his stomach, and John grasped it. He weaved their hands together and held on tight. That hand was his tether, keeping him in his body as feeling threatened to overwhelm him. "That's so fucking amazing," John breathed, and panted, and gasped. Oh God, it felt incredible, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. John felt like he was creeping against the precipice. With each touch he felt that the next one might send him over the edge, but the fall never came. Instead, the tension only built, making him desperate. He writhed and whined and gripped Sholto's hand and grasped at the bedsheets until his knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, Sholto stopped, prying his hand from John's grip and soothing his palm down John's stomach. John growled.

"Are you all right?" Sholto asked.

"I'm so close." John shuddered as a spurt of precome dribbled down his cock. He trailed his fingers down his stomach, finding a pool of warm fluid tangled in the hair at the base of his cock. He ran his finger through it, exploring, before gingerly wrapping his hand around his own cock. Fuck, it was downright slick, and John's hand slid easily over it. He quaked and trembled under even that light touch, but despite his feeling of urgency, he didn't want to come that way. He wanted Sholto to do it.

"It's my fault." Sholto eased his fingers from John's body. "I think I overstimulated you. Maybe we should take a break."

"No!" John blurted. "No," he repeated more quietly, though no less urgent, "I don't want to stop." He wanted more, and not just stimulation. He couldn't put up with their only contact being fingers and mouths for another second. He needed to feel the warmth of Sholto's body against his. He needed mouths and lips and hands exploring. He needed shared breath, shared pleasure. He needed- "Fuck me."

"What?"

"You heard me," John replied as he sat up. He hooked his arms under Sholto's shoulders and coaxed him up off his haunches until John could lean down and press a kiss to Sholto's lips. Sholto grabbed onto John's shoulders as John pressed his lips and tongue insistently against his major's. He grabbed Sholto's face, tilting Sholto's jaw with his fingertips, doing his best to remove any doubt of what he wanted. He could taste himself, salt and musk, on Sholto's mouth, and finally Sholto's hands were gripping John's hips, fingers pulsing as his body swayed. John, still largely unable to breathe through his swollen nostrils, broke off the kiss and breathed deep, relishing the feeling of oxygen filling his lungs, of Sholto's beard beneath his hands, of his cock leaving wet trails in the hair on Sholto's chest and stomach. "I want you."

"Are you certain?" Sholto asked, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing. "You don't have to do it to please me."

John laughed. "I'm not that generous. I'm doing it to please me."

Sholto stared at John for a moment, his expression the most open John had ever seen from him, and John smoothed his hands down Sholto's shoulder. "All right," Sholto murmured with a nod, standing up, "I'll be right back."

Sholto walked around the bed and through a door on the other side that turned out to lead to a bathroom. "What are you doing?" John called.

"Looking for a condom," replied Sholto's disembodied voice.

John nodded to himself, and after a moment of listening to Sholto rummage around, he climbed up on the bed and settled back on the pillows. God, Sholto was taking a long time. John's fingers idly played over his body as he waited, trailing down his abdomen, smearing precome through his pubic hair, sliding over his slick perineum. He reached down and slid his middle finger into his anus, surprised at how slick and relaxed it was. His heartbeat raced, and his breath caught in his throat. Any moment now, Sholto would walk back through that door, naked and erect, and stalk over to him, touch him, kiss him, push into his body. God, he couldn't wait. The ghost of Sholto's fingers still teased inside John as he moved, and he closed his eyes against the sensation.

John let his fingers trail up his length, pressed his thumb to his slit and spread the precome found there. As his hips rocked involuntarily, he gripped his cock. He meant to just take the edge off, exert enough pressure to tide himself over, but before his mind could catalog the experience, he was thrusting up into his hand. His feet slid against the bed sheets, and any effort to plant his feet was thwarted by his rebellious body. He climbed the invisible treadmill, his body creeping towards the precipice again, his brain powerless to stop it until a strong hand wrapped around his kneecap.

John ground to a halt with a shudder and opened his eyes. Sholto kneeled between John's feet, expression dark, eyes hooded, pupils blown, and John was overcome. He sat up enough to reach Sholto's sides and hauled him down. His weight landed heavy on John as their mouths met in open exploration. The noises Sholto made were so desperate and filthy and mind-blowingly erotic that John's body responded without any input from his brain. John was naught but instinct in that moment, his body guiding his brain into unknown territory. John wrapped his ankles around Sholto's knees and thrust up, thrilling at the feeling of Sholto's cock sliding between his cheeks.

John moaned against Sholto's mouth and muttered, "Fuck me. Do it now."

At that, Sholto bolted upright, panting, "We need more lube."

Sholto snatched the bottle from the bed and squeezed the jelly into his palm. John was pleased to see that he already had on a condom. No time to waste. Finally, Sholto was slick and gripping his cock, sliding it against John's hole and pressing, too gently for John's taste. So, he canted his hips, thrust himself towards Sholto, and suddenly, the head of Sholto's cock slid past John's sphincter, surprising the both of them.

Sholto froze, his mouth and eyes wide and then morphing into a grimace. "Are you okay?"

Though it was startling, and John had to admit it stung a bit, a laugh burst from John's mouth and only grew from there. "Oh God, your face!"

Sholto made a strange, strangled noise, his hips thrusting forwards before he could stop them. He shuddered to a halt and gripped John's kneecaps. "God," he breathed, closing his eyes tight, and then a laugh started to slowly bubble up.

Before the laugh could fully bloom, Sholto leaned down and kissed John, their lips smacking in a loud peck before they settled into something more sensual. Sholto kissed him gently, lips and tongue teasing as he slowly rocked into and against John's body. John's cock pressed and slid against Sholto's stomach, only making John ache for more. Sholto was still going too slowly. Though John tried to cant his hips again, he was limited by Sholto's weight on top of him. Plus, each time John would try, Sholto would stroke a soothing hand over John's hip and whisper, "Relax, we'll get there."

John felt as if his nerves were livewires. His fingers sliding up Sholto's back were eagle-eyed cartographers mapping his topography as they finished their journey and settled on Sholto's shoulders. His lips felt electric under Sholto's, and he swore he could feel every hair in Sholto's beard. Every hair that smoothed and tangled with each other where their bodies were joined. God, he wished he could smell Sholto. Would the ubiquitous odors of gun powder and dust still be present? Or would he smell completely different?

Finally, Sholto's hips met John's pelvis, and John could feel Sholto's testicles settled on his arse. Sholto's glans dragged against John's prostate as he pulled out and thrust back in, and John felt his body clench and shudder. Sholto must have felt it too because his hips surged forward and a sharp, guttural sound escaped. He hunched in on himself, his hips pulsing against John, and his strangled voice said, "Oh God. Oh God, John, you feel so good."

And then it was like they were stuck in a feedback loop, each movement amplifying the next, until they were rocking like a rowboat in a hurricane. John was completely lost to sensation, digging his heels into Sholto's buttocks, urging him on, pressing him deeper. His cock dragged against Sholto's stomach, slowly spreading slickness on their skin. He felt Sholto's breath, hot and fast, in his ear, moaning, whispering, murmuring, "I- I . . . I'll- I'll."

John scrabbled for purchase on Sholto's biceps, forearms, and finally his hands. He struggled to link them as their bodies surged against each other until suddenly, Sholto grabbed John's hands and pressed their intertwined fingers against the pillows. Sholto's face hovered mere centimeters above John's, and John was trapped in icy blue eyes. He couldn't believe how good this felt. How right. How fucking perfect.

He surged up and pressed his lips to Sholto's. Though it was more shared breathing than actual kissing, John thrilled at it, their bodies connected at all points. A spring coiled tighter and tighter in John's groin, threatening to unravel. He pressed his forehead to Sholto's chest, his breath ragged, his body shuddering. Fuck, he was close. He had to come. "Touch me. Grab my cock."

Sholto released John's hands and reached a hand between them to wrap around John's cock. He squeezed tight, making a tunnel with his fist, and John thrust into it and groaned in relief. "Fuck," Sholto cried, "wait for me, John. I'm so close. Can you wait for me?"

John growled but closed his eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh God, John. You- Shit!" Sholto's thrusts grew ragged and his hand sped up on John's cock. John's hips canted, pressing Sholto's cock into him and his own cock into Sholto's hand. "I'm gonna come, John. Can you come with me?"

"Yeah," John whispered, just as orgasm threatened to overtake him.

"Come for me."

John came, his body convulsing and curling from his toes to the tips of his fingers. Overwhelming pleasure pulsed violently from his center with each spasm and pulse of his cock. Fuck, it was intense. It felt as if he had lost control of his entire body. 

Finally, he collapsed against the bed, as relaxed as he had ever been, and Sholto collapsed on top of him. "God, that was intense. Wow. I think that was the best orgasm of my entire life."

"Glad to be of service," Sholto murmured into the pillow, and John couldn't help but chuckle. A chuckle which turned into a full-blown belly laugh. God, he felt absolutely delighted. A shiver ran through Sholto. He gripped the base of the condom and pulled out, but he soon joined John in more subdued laughter, sitting back on his haunches. "Do you want to clean up?"

John shook his head. "You go ahead. I need a minute to recover."

Sholto leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on John's lips before climbing from the bed and staggering to the bathroom. John pillowed his head with his hands clasped behind and stared at the ceiling, no thoughts in his head besides how good he felt and how happy he was in that moment. God, he hoped they could do it again. He wasn't stupid; he knew they only had so much time. Leave was over in less than three weeks, and after that, John was going back to Afghanistan without Sholto. But he wanted to enjoy their time while it lasted. No more dancing around each other, no more doubt. And sure, there'd still have to be some sneaking around, but at least in Tidworth they actually had some privacy.

Sholto walked out of the bathroom, a bit more sure on his feet, in all his naked glory. Fuck, what a good body. "I left a flannel on the sink for you," Sholto said as he made his way to the dresser. "And there are Tucks pads in the cabinet over the toilet. If you're uncomfortable."

John hopped from the bed over to Sholto. He pressed a kiss between Sholto's shoulder blades as he wrapped his arms around Sholto's waist. "I'm very comfortable."

John waddled his way into the bathroom. As he ran warm water over the flannel he checked his face in the mirror. The bridge of his nose and under his eyes were turning a lovely shade of maroon, but the swelling didn't distort his face too badly. The man at the bar obviously did not know how to throw a proper punch.

As John started cleaning his chest, Sholto called from the bedroom, "Do you want to borrow some pyjamas?"

No, he thought, his pants should be fine. "No, thanks."

After a long pause, when John was nearly finished cleaning himself, he heard Sholto ask, "Would you like me to call a cab?"

John rinsed the flannel. "Why would I need a cab?" He wrung it out and draped it over the front of the sink for lack of a better place.

"Would you rather I drive you home?"

John walked out of the bathroom just in time to see Sholto cover his ever-enticing abdomen with a t-shirt. "Trying to get rid of me?" John teased as he whipped his boxers up from the floor.

"No."

"Good," John replied, snapping the waistband of his boxers into place, "because you wore me out. And your bed is much more comfortable than mine."

At that, Sholto grabbed John by the wrist and tugged him over until Sholto loomed over him, their bodies barely a hair's breadth apart. His fingers tangled in John's hair, trailing over his scalp, before settling on his jaw. Sholto leaned down and placed a warm kiss on John's mouth and breathed against his skin. "John Watson, you are full of surprises."

Without opening his eyes or putting any distance between them, John prodded Sholto in his chest. "You just underestimate me."

John felt Sholto shake his head. "No, I don't." Sholto's stroked his palms up and down John's biceps, whispering against John's mouth, "You're incredible."

John grasped the back of Sholto's neck and dragged him down, crashing their mouths together. He pushed up on his toes and ignored the pain in his sinuses from pressing his face so firmly against Sholto's. Because he had to. In that moment, nothing could have kept him away. He couldn't verbalize why. He just felt the overwhelming need to kiss his major. His major. His Sholto. James. James. James.

Finally, the kiss broke, and John felt dizzy. Though, whether from lack of oxygen or something else, he couldn't say. They stood in silence as John took several deep breaths, Sholto's nose pressed to John's hairline. "Are you sure you don't want to borrow some pyjamas?" Sholto murmured against John's forehead.

John shook his head. "No, I'm all right."

"Won't you be cold?"

John chuckled. "Not if I'm sleeping next to a giant furnace."

John watched Sholto's chest rise and fall in a silent chuckle as hot breath ruffled John's hair. "Let's go to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to emmagrant01 for the beta, and apologies for taking so long to post chapters.


	11. Dhobi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, no. Yeah, that's fine. Good. Makes sense." John licked his lips, pressed fingers to palms, and glanced out the window. "So, was this a one-time thing? Or, I suppose, a two-time thing."
> 
> Sholto smiled, though his eyes didn't leave the road. "I hope not."
> 
> "Good. Yeah. Good."

John slowly came into a blurry sort of consciousness, more aware of the proverbial spike in his head than anything else. The pale winter sun streamed in despite the curtains on the bedroom window being closed. He pressed his face into the pillow and breathed deep through his nose. Aha! He could finally breathe through his nose, though the disgusting dryness of his mouth told him that had not been the case for long.

 

His pillow smelled nice, freshly laundered and crisp. Besides that, it mostly smelled like himself; he could detect a bit of something other but familiar. If you stripped away the gunpowder, it could have been Sholto. John shifted on the bed, relishing the feeling of crisp sheets and the twinge in his arse that remind him of the night before. True, he had little to compare it to, at least in an apples to apples comparison, but the night before had been fucking fantastic.

 

John turned his head towards Sholto's side of the bed and slowly blinked open his eyes. He tried not to be too disappointed to find a dented pillow instead of his lover. Hmm, lover. He could get used to that. John grabbed Sholto's pillow and pulled it to his chest, pressing his face into it. It was still warm and smelled undeniably of Sholto with just the slightest undertone of sex. Fuck, he was get horny again. Screw it, he thought, wallow in it.

 

He ran his hand over the sheet on Sholto's side, still warm and rumpled. God, he loved the way Sholto smelled, sweet and masculine. He loved Sholto's enveloping weight on top of him, crisp hairs ruffling against his groin and abdomen, Sholto's beard tickling his neck. He may have been late in coming to this realization, but damn, was he enjoying it.

 

John pressed his palm to his burgeoning erection. All right, time to get up. Enough wallowing.

 

He stumbled into the bathroom and peed, leaning against his hand on the wall and struggling to remain conscious. He flushed, yawned, stretched, his gaze landing on the shower. A shower sounded so fucking good. Surely Sholto wouldn't mind. He peered out the bathroom door and listened for movement. He shrugged. _Fuck it. Take a shower._

 

He turned on the water, stripped, and stepped in, letting the water heat up against his skin. The shock of the cold water finally opened his eyes, and he relaxed as the water heated up to just short of scalding. He put his face under the spray, the hot water easing the inflammation in his sinuses. As he placed his hands on the wall in front of him and leaned forward, hot water cascade over his back. His cock, which had finally resumed its resting position, twitched at the memory of a dream that started much like this. Maybe a shower wasn't such a good idea. He had to be able to keep it in his pants at least a little bit. At least long enough that he could resist a wank and therefore wouldn't have to wait out a refractory period before putting the moves on Sholto again.

 

Just as John stood straight up, bristling the water from his hair with his fingers, he heard the shower curtain move behind him. He spun around to find Sholto's head peeking around the shower curtain. "Mind if I join you?"

 

John licked his lips, smiled, shook his head, and Sholto pushed the curtain aside. He stepped in and pulled the curtain closed behind him, in all his naked glory. Why did he have to be so fucking fit? John wrapped his arms around Sholto's neck and hauled him down for a kiss. He licked along Sholto's bottom lip before remembering that his breath had to be terrible. But Sholto didn't seem to mind because he opened his mouth eagerly and pressed his tongue to John's, moving at a slow, sensual pace that left John moaning.

 

"How are you feeling?" Sholto murmured against John's mouth as he ran fingers through John's hair, sending cool droplets down to John's shoulders.

 

"Better now." John wrapped his hand over Sholto's hip and stepped closer until his now-fully-interested cock nudged Sholto's thigh.

 

Sholto chuckled. "You smooth son of a bitch."

 

Sholto reached around John and grabbed a flannel and a bar of soap, a wicked smile playing on his face. He scoured the flannel against the soap.

 

"Oh God, sorry,” John said. “Did you want to get under the water?"

 

"Nope." Sholto replaced the soap to its place. He rubbed the flannel against itself, working up a lather, and without further comment, started cleaning John's chest. John held back a groan at the feel of Sholto's fingers kneading against his flesh through the flannel.

 

He let his head fall back, water beating at his scalp. "I had a dream like this."

 

The flannel swept over John's stomach, dipped below his navel. "Really?"

 

"Oh yeah." The flannel rubbed circles up one of John's arms as Sholto gripped the other. "It was one of my favorites. I had it right before I came to your room."

 

Sholto cleaned John's other arm, tracing flannel-clad fingers over John's pulse point. "When?"

 

"You know when." John gasped as the flannel pressed to his hip and started its way inwards.

 

"Ah--" Sholto cupped John's balls through the cloth, sweeping his thumb over and pushing a finger back, over John's perineum "--no wonder you were so keyed up."

 

"Yeah," John huffed as Sholto dragged the flannel up the underside of John's cock. "Yeah."

 

"Turn around."

 

Reluctantly, John turned, and Sholto started at the top again, rubbing circles against John's shoulders. He kissed John's soapy skin and said, "That was a good night."

 

"Yeah." Sholto shifted behind him, and John turned to see him kneeling. God, that was hot. He turned back around and braced his palm on the shower wall. "After I left, did you masturbate?"

 

Sholto pressed a kiss to the small of John's back and started on his thighs. "I was walking the next day, wasn't I?"

 

John huffed something between a laugh and a groan. "What did you think about?"

 

"You." Sholto's palms skimmed down calves and up shins, thumbs circling kneecaps before finally, finally, Sholto's hands gripped arse cheeks, slicking them with suds.

 

John collapsed forward, catching himself on the wall below the shower head. He pressed his palms flat and pushed his arse against Sholto's touch. "What about?" God, he wanted to hear it, what filthy things Sholto imagined doing with John that night. Fuck, his hands felt good. Water sluiced down John's back, and he could feel where it split into rivulets around Sholto's fingers.

 

As Sholto pressed the sudsy flannel between John's cheeks, he gruffed, "I thought about the way you kissed and how your tongue and lips would feel on my prick." He groaned as he pressed his thumb up and down John's cleft. "And I imagined we were still snogging against the wall, and you reached into my pants and grabbed me, and you were panting against my neck and rutting against my thigh."

 

Sholto groaned as he dropped the flannel to the bathtub floor. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to John's arse. John was throbbing with want. He just wanted Sholto to reach around and grab him. Feel Sholto's chest pressed against his back, his cock nudging against John's arse. He didn't think he was ready to fuck again yet, but they could soap up his thighs, and Sholto could thrust between them. Yes, that could be very good.

 

Instead, Sholto insisted on continuing his onslaught on John's arse, thumbs sweeping forward to press against John's perineum, making him squirm. Then they swept up John's cleft as Sholto's palms spread his cheeks.

 

"Oh God, John, the things you do to me," Sholto sighed. John could feel Sholto's hot breath against his skin as water pooled in the small of his back and tiny rivulets made their escape down his arse. And then he felt a hot, wet tongue circle his anus.

 

"Oh fuck!" John yelped.

 

Sholto paused. "Is this okay?"

 

"Um, yeah." John nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. You spent enough time cleaning up there. It shouldn't be too unsanitary."

 

John chuckled, but it was cut short when he felt Sholto's mouth on his arse. His tongue flicked lightly against John's hole, and John shuddered. As Sholto licked progressively smaller circles and hummed against John's skin, John pushed his arse back.

 

"Oh yeah," he breathed. "That's good--" his hand thumped against the shower wall "--so fucking good."

 

John cursed. And cursed. And cursed as Sholto's tongue pressed harder and slicker around and against John's hole. His lips moved in an obscene French kiss, the most deliciously filthy sounds vibrating his caresses, his nose pressed against John's coccyx.

 

Before John realized what he was doing, he had reached down and fondled his balls. He tugged on them, rolled them against his fingers, ran the backs of his nails over his perineum. He had only a peripheral awareness of it until Sholto pulled off. "It's okay," he panted. "Touch yourself. Please let me see you come this way."

 

John wrapped his hand around his cock, jerking hard and fast. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't wait. He felt like if he didn't come soon, he would burst. _Yeah, yeah, fuck yes._ John rocked, his legs trembling under the strain, pushing himself into his hand and against Sholto's mouth. His body grew taut like a violin string, his fingers digging into tile, water flowing unnoticed down his face.

 

And then the string was plucked. "Fuck, FUCK!" He shouted, soiling the shower wall with semen. _Oh fuck, yes._

 

Before the last tremors of aftershocks were through him, John spun around and dropped to his knees. He used Sholto's thighs to push himself backwards until he could get Sholto's cock in his mouth. God, that was incredible, and if John's didn't suck Sholto's cock right then, he was going to lose his mind. John sucked hard and fast, cheeks hollowing. He was afraid he was using too much teeth in his enthusiasm, but Sholto fell backward, bracing himself on the rim of the tub and pushing into John's mouth.

 

John wrapped his hand around Sholto's cock as his throat threatened to betray him with a gag. "God. Oh God, John," Sholto choked out as he writhed on the shower floor. Water beat down on John's head, getting in his eyes, but he didn't care. He wanted to make Sholto come.

 

_Come for me._ John pressed his tongue against the underside of Sholto's cock. _Come for me._ He moaned and whimpered against Sholto's cock and tasted precome in his mouth. _That's it. Fuck my mouth._ Sholto panted, his hips sped up and stuttered. _Oh yeah, you're close. I can feel it. Come in my mouth._

 

And just like that, John felt the first salty, brackish spurt of come hit the roof of his mouth. He groaned as Sholto shuddered beneath him and heat filled his mouth. John stroked him through the orgasm, slowly pulling off as Sholto's hips stilled. Finally, he grimaced and made himself swallow, feeling a bit triumphant.

 

Sholto gripped John by the neck and dragged him in for a kiss. He ran his fingers through John's hair, down his neck, over his shoulders, as he explored John's mouth. John imagined Sholto could taste himself on John's tongue, and judging by the noises he made, he quite enjoyed it. Finally, Sholto stood and held out a hand for John.

 

"Has anyone ever told you?" John took the proffered hand. "You are absolutely incredible in bed."

 

Sholto's eyes glittered, but he patted John on the arm and said, "Budge over. I need to wash."

 

John held up his hands and turned to the side, inching along the wall. "Yes, sir."

 

"Cheeky." Sholto swept up the flannel from the floor and started rinsing it, and John stepped up behind him, grabbing two handfuls of arse.

 

"Am I, now."

 

Sholto shook his head and chuckled, rubbing a fresh batch of soap into the flannel.

 

John laid a loud, smacking kiss between shoulder blades and patted Sholto's butt cheek. "All right, I'm getting out. You have fun."

 

John stepped out into the chilly air of the bathroom. He bounced on his toes as he looked around. "Towel?"

 

"Cabinet behind the door," answered Sholto.

 

"Ah." John whipped out a towel and wrapped it around his waist, eyeing his crumpled pants on the floor. He scrubbed his fingers along the back of his head. "Oh, and could I borrow some clothes?"

 

"Well, I'm not going to make you go home naked."

 

"But if I stay here, there are certain advantages to nudity."

 

Sholto paused. "Now that would start to get suspicious."

 

"Who knows I'm here?" John leaned against the sink and crossed his arms.

 

"No one, but that doesn't mean we should be indiscreet."

 

"Because showing up to the barracks in my CO's clothes isn't suspicious at all."

 

Sholto scoffed. "I don't wear anything that distinctive."

 

John licked his lips. "I don't know. The shirt you were wearing last night's pretty memorable."

 

"You flatter me, Watson."

 

"That was the idea. Yeah."

 

The water shut off, and Sholto pulled back the curtain. Without a word, he stepped over to the cabinet and pulled out a fresh towel. As he wrapped it around himself, his eyes never left John's, though John's gaze may have flicked downward once or twice.

 

Once the towel was firmly around his waist, Sholto said, "Let's find you something boring to wear."

 

 

 

About an hour later, John sat in the passenger seat of Sholto's car, steadily making their way towards the barracks.

 

"I'll drop you off about a half klick away if that's all right," Sholto said, glancing over at John.

 

"Yeah, no. Yeah, that's fine. Good. Makes sense." John licked his lips, pressed fingers to palms, and glanced out the window. "So, was this a one-time thing? Or, I suppose, a two-time thing."

 

Sholto smiled, though his eyes didn't leave the road. "I hope not."

 

"Good. Yeah. Good."

 

They rode in silence for a bit before John broke it with, "Do you fancy dinner later?"

 

"Oh, probably. What are you thinking?"

 

"What about that chip shop?"

 

"Out and about. Bold."

 

"Do you think it's a bad idea?" John scratched the back of his head and leaned on the window.

 

"I think it would be all right." Sholto chewed at his bottom lip. "I go there often enough. It's plausible that we would run into each other, and if that's the case, it would be stranger if we didn't sit together. As far as anyone knows, we're just friends, and besides, we have to come up with other places to see each other besides my house. I know it's off post, but there's still military living around me."

 

"So, you want to meet there, say, six-thirty?"

 

"Sure." Sholto stopped the car and put it in park. "Is here all right?"

 

"Yeah." John looked around. "Yeah, it should be fine. I'll, um, I'll see you later."

 

 

 

John trudged his way from the barracks in his second-warmest jacket. Though he called his sergeant earlier that day, John hadn't been able to get ahold of him. So, he had to settle for his army-issue jacket. It was a nice enough jacket. It kept out the wind at least, but it was intended more for chilly desert nights than English winters. Plus, it made him feel a bit conspicuous in civilian territory. And although he had to admit it had its advantages in certain situations (such as gaining the attention of attractive women, or people), when he was meeting his former CO for a sort of date thing, he would have preferred to be forgettable.

 

John opened the door to the chip shop and basked in the blast of over-heated air on his face. The air smelled strongly of fry oil with just the slightest undertone of chlorine, which told customers that though their meals might not be healthy, damn it, they were clean. Sholto was already leaning against the counter waiting on his meal. He still wore his coat, a woolen black number that skimmed his hips. Leaned over as he was, the coat put Sholto's arse appealingly on display. John resolutely did not tilt his head for a better look as he shrugged out of his jacket and queued behind Sholto.

 

"Good evening, Major."

 

Sholto turned to face John, a conspiratorial smile on his face. "Ah, Captain Watson, good to see you."

 

Sholto reached out his hand for a handshake, and John took it. It was a firm handshake, with only the slightest addition of fingertips skimming John's wrist as their hands parted ways.

 

Just then, Sholto's food arrived, and the man behind the counter looked expectantly at John. John reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "Um, one, please."

 

The man nodded, taking John's money and handing back his change, and spun around to drop John's fish in the fry oil. As John stuffed his wallet back into his pocket, he turned to find Sholto seated against the back corner wall. Without a word, his head down as he took a bite of fish, Sholto pushed out a chair with his foot. John walked over, draped his jacket over a chair, and sat with his back against the other wall that made up the corner. John smirked as he looked at Sholto from the corner of his eye. Sholto was wearing a red shirt very similar to the one he wore the night before, though this time he wore a grey t-shirt underneath. "Did you wear that on purpose?"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

 

"How are the chips today?"

 

"Good."

 

Without a word, the proprietor of the shop slid John's meal onto the counter, so John stood up to get it. As he went to grab it, he realized--"Oh, fuck."

 

The man behind the counter scowled.

 

"Sorry," John replied, fishing for change in his pocket. "Could I get a Coke?"

 

The man took a coke from the cooler and set the can on the counter. John gave him enough change for the coke and said, "Cheers."

 

As John set his meal on the table and slid back into his seat, he leaned over and said to Sholto, "It's pretty dead tonight."

 

Sholto shrugged. "I think they do most of their business on takeaway."

 

John took a bite of fish. God, that was fucking tasty. "I'm surprised, with such excellent service."

 

Sholto shrugged again. "I like him."

 

"You would." At Sholto's strange look, John clarified, "Taciturn."

 

Sholto nodded, and after a moment, a crooked smile appeared. And it was soon followed by one silent laugh.

 

"What's so funny?"

 

Sholto finished chewing his bite before answering, "I was just thinking of other ways I prefer to use my mouth."

 

"Oh, that's dirty," John said in mock shock. "Major Sholto, you should be ashamed."

 

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

 

"I don't know," John pondered as he bit a chip. "I like it here."

 

"Captain Watson," came a voice from across the shop, startling both John and Sholto.

 

"Oh," John blurted, wiping his hands on his jeans instead of the napkin that was right there. "Hello, Sarge. All right?"

 

"All right. Just getting dinner for me and my wife. What brings you here?"

 

"Dinner."

 

The sergeant chuckled. "Oh right, yeah." His eyes flicked over to Sholto, and he clasped his hands behind his back.

 

"Oh, you know Major Sholto, right?"

 

"Yes, of course. Good evening, sir."

 

Sholto nodded, wiping oil from his fingers. He stood and extended his hand. "Sergeant Garrett."

 

After they shook hands Sholto sat back down and went back to his meal. John idly twirled a chip in his fingers, and Garrett stared at Sholto. After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself. "Oh, Cap. I have your coat. I went by this morning to bring it to you, but your roommate said you hadn't been home. I hope you don't mind; I wanted to bring it to you myself."

 

John only just contained himself from doing a happy dance. That jacket was a war trophy, and also the most he had ever spent on a piece of clothing. "Oh, that's fantastic. I was afraid it was lost forever."

 

"I have it in the car. I'll go get it."

 

"Thanks."

 

"All right." Garrett turned his head towards the door and quickly back again. "I'll just-- I'll be right back."

 

As Garrett walked to the exit, John called after him, "Do you want me to come out there?"

 

John started to stand up, but Garrett called back, "No, I have it. Keep your seat."

 

As soon as Garrett was clear from the door, John leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands nervously against his thighs. What if Sergeant Garrett heard their conversation? Fuck, that was reckless. He should have been more vigilant. God, this could be a disaster.

 

"Keep it together, John." John startled at the voice nearby, barely above a murmur.

 

He blinked at Sholto. "What?"

 

"You're going into a tailspin. Calm down." Sholto watched the shop owner working at the fryer and calmly chewed on a chip.

 

"But what if--"

 

"There's no use worrying about what ifs. As far as he's concerned, he's saying hi to a couple of blokes he works with and returning some property. But if you're over here sweating bullets, he's going to wonder. He's going to go home and think and talk to his wife about it. And that's how rumors get started, so calm down."

 

John took a deep breath and blew it out through his mouth, puffing his cheeks. "All right."

 

After a moment, Garrett stepped back through the door with a bundle of black fabric draped over his arm. John stood up and walked over to meet him halfway. As Garrett held out the coat for him, John took it and said, "Really. Thank you, Sarge."

 

"It's no trouble."

 

John only sort of heard Garrett as he was running his hand over the leather shoulder patch. He sniffed at the leather, still smelling new if with a bit of a soupçon of cigarette smoke. "No, but really, I do appreciate it. It's my war trophy." John gestured with the coat and walked back to the table.

 

Just as John was draping his coat over his other one on the back of the chair, Garrett asked, "What happened to you last night, anyway?"

 

"You didn't notice?"

 

"Notice what?"

 

John peeked incredulously at Sholto then pointed at his face. "The fight."

 

"Of course I noticed the fight. The whole bar did. Was that you?"

 

John frowned and nodded. "Yeah."

 

"Wow," Garrett laughed, "you had the bar buzzing after you left, then."

 

John scratched at his left shoulder. "Why?"

 

"People couldn't stop talking about how you brought that huge bloke to his knees and made him cry."

 

"Oh, that wasn't me." John turned his head to look at Sholto. "That was Major Sholto."

 

"You must be joking." Garrett flinched. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"

 

Sholto waved it away. "It's fine."

 

"I didn't mean that I didn't think you were capable--"

 

"Sergeant Garrett," Sholto interrupted. "I don't need you to explain yourself."

 

"Right. Sorry."

 

Sholto nodded and got up to toss his rubbish.

 

Garrett peeked at Sholto out of the corner of his eye before turning back to John. "When your roommate said you hadn't been home, I assumed you had gotten lucky."

 

John laughed and scratched at his left shoulder. "Nope, just got kicked out."

 

"So then--" Garrett's brow furrowed "--I know it's none of my business, but where did you go if you didn't go home?"

 

_Um . . ._ "I stayed with a friend."

 

"Oh. Who?"

 

John blinked, wondering whether or not to tell the truth, for just a moment before Sholto chimed, "Me."

 

John turned his head to Sholto and heard from behind him. "Oh. All right. I didn’t know you were that close."

 

“Well,” Sholto responded. "As you can see from John's face, he was in need of first aid and also had cause for concern that he might be concussed."

 

"Oh yeah," Garrett said as John turned back around, "that makes sense."

 

Garrett stared at John's neck but quickly realigned his gaze to John's eyes before flicking it over to the counter. "Oh, there's my order." He scurried over to the counter and swept up the bag. "I'll see you around, Cap--" he nodded to Sholto "--Major Sholto."

 

As the door swung behind Garrett, John's brow furrowed. That was weird. And why was Garrett staring at his neck? It was sure to have some bruising on it, he supposed. He hadn't really taken a good look, more concerned with his face and shoulder than anything, but he would have noticed if they were that bad. What could he have been- Oh, shit.

 

John pressed his fingers to the crook of his neck and felt the low ache of the teeth-shaped bruise there. Which he had been fucking scratching. John turned to Sholto, still pressing his fingers to the bruise, and Sholto's gaze landed on it. Immediately, he clenched his jaw and slammed his fist against his knee. "Fuck."

 

Fuck was right.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same notes as always apply. :)
> 
> Also, I'm happy to report that life has calmed down considerably. My training for the Jazzercise instructor audition is done (I made it. Yay!), and as soon as I get it all into a manuscript format, my original novel is going to some beta readers.
> 
> With that said, I'm going to make a hard-line promise, and damn it; I'm going to keep it. You heard it here first, folks. This fic will be finished and every chapter posted before 221BCon. So, the last chapter will be up on or before 11:59PM CST on Thursday, April 9th. (Also, I am going to 221BCon, so if you're there, come say hi. I can't make any promises about any other aspect of my appearance, but I have long, red hair, and I will be wearing a pink & oatmeal-colored messenger bag with the MC Escher lizards tessellation on it. My name tag will say Katy.)


	12. Cake & Arse Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pulled a cigarette from the pack and let Sholto light it. As he took his first drag, he cracked his window. The sky was crystal clear and brilliant with stars. The last time he saw stars like that was in Afghanistan, which was probably what he missed most about it. He took a long second drag and flicked ash out the window. He squinted at the sky, looking for the big dipper, trying to avoid the conversation for a few more seconds. As he propped his elbow on the door and held the butt outside the crack in the window, he turned the rest of his body towards Sholto. "Part of me just wants to say, 'fuck it; let people talk.' But the stakes aren't as high for me."

Sholto parked his car on a gravel road between two fields. He shut off the lights and the engine and leaned against the steering wheel, resting his chin on his arms and staring out the windscreen. John stared at Sholto's pensive face for what must have amounted to only one or two minutes, though John could practically hear the seconds ticking by. John's jaw clenched, and he sniffed. 

 

Finally, he asked, "What do we do now?"

 

Sholto sighed. "I don't know. I just--" he shook his head. "I don't know."

 

John scrubbed a hand over his face. "I wish you hadn't said that I stayed with you."

 

"I wish I remembered the love bite on your neck."

 

"I don't understand why you would have told him in the first place."

 

"People only think you have something to hide if you act like there's something to hide. To his mind, I got you kicked out of the bar and injured. It wouldn't make sense if I didn't do something to help."

 

"So"--John's fist clenched, his voice went quiet--"just this once, you felt like you might actually care if someone thought you were a prick."

 

Sholto's head popped up from the steering wheel, and as he looked over at John, he leaned against his seat. His face was inscrutable, as fucking always. John stared back at him, trying to school his expression into something calm. 

 

Finally, Sholto spoke in an even voice, "The more truth you pepper into a lie, the more believable it is."

 

“I still think that particular truth could have been left out.” He balanced his elbow against the window frame, tapped the window with his knuckle.

 

“Can you come up with a better story?”

 

He could have said he’d gone home with a woman, but that story would have more holes in it than a colander. Plus, once Garrett found out someone shagged someone else, you would be hard pressed to get him to leave it. He could have said he stayed in a hotel, but-

 

“See? You have to be quick. The closer you can stay to the truth, the easier it is to lie.”

 

He shouldn’t have stayed _that_ close to the truth. It left open too many questions. There had to be another avenue they could have taken. John tried to think of one.

 

Damn it, Sholto was right. Every muscle in John's body felt tense, his fight-or-flight instincts going into overdrive. His jaw clenched; his fists clenched, and his knees bounced on their own accord. 

 

"Fuck," he shouted, slamming his fist into the dash, "one day. Not even twenty-four hours back into... whatever this is, and we've already fucked it up. I shouldn't have-"

 

"Stop it." John startled at Sholto's voice. "Assigning blame does us no good. We need to remain calm and come up with a rational course of action."

 

A single laugh popped up John's throat as he stared at Sholto. "You sound like you're directing troop movements."

 

"Well." He shrugged. Sholto leaned on the steering wheel, drumming his fingers against the dash. He opened his mouth as if to speak but didn't.

 

"I'm sure he won't say anything to the brass,” John offered.

 

"No, but he will tell his wife."

 

"All right." They sat in silence. John knew what Sholto was struggling to say. He was going to say that they needed to end things, but John had had just about enough of that. They could come up with something. They only needed to buy themselves a couple of weeks. "Maybe he just didn't want his food to get cold."

 

"Doubtful." Another silence stretched between them.

 

"Is it really that bad if one person has an inkling that something's going on?"

 

"You know what the gossip mill is like on a military post."

 

"Before you know it, the story will be that we shagged in the General's office." They both chuckled, but it didn't last long. 

 

Sholto blew out a long breath. "I need a smoke." He leaned across and fished a pack and lighter out of the glove box. "Want one?"

 

"No thanks," John replied as Sholto held out the open pack. "Actually, yeah."

 

John pulled a cigarette from the pack and let Sholto light it. As he took his first drag, he cracked his window. The sky was crystal clear and brilliant with stars. The last time he saw stars like that was in Afghanistan, which was probably what he missed most about it. He took a long second drag and flicked ash out the window. He squinted at the sky, looking for the big dipper, trying to avoid the conversation for a few more seconds. As he propped his elbow on the door and held the butt outside the crack in the window, he turned the rest of his body towards Sholto. "Part of me just wants to say, 'fuck it; let people talk.' But the stakes aren't as high for me."

 

"Nope." Sholto flicked ash out the window, his other hand clenching the steering wheel.

 

"God. How did you handle relationships before you could legally be out?"

 

Sholto took a drag and slowly breathed it out. "Usually, it ended like this, or they just got sick of the secrecy."

 

"That's fucking shitty."

 

"Yep."

 

John took one more drag and threw the butt out the window. He was only halfway through it, but the last one he had was with Sholto in Afghanistan, and it was making him feel a little sick. God, the stars were beautiful. Too bad they had to be wasted on such an awful conversation. And it wasn't like he would have another opportunity to drive out to the middle of nowhere and look at the stars. And if he did end up going to Harry's place in London for Christmas, he wouldn't see a single, solitary one.

 

John looked over at Sholto to see him still silently smoking. "What if we got out of town? I'm supposed to go to my sister's for Christmas anyway. Why don't you just come with me?"

 

"Sounds complicated."

 

"No more complicated than staying in Tidworth, and a lot better than ending things now."

 

Sholto's brow furrowed. "What are you going to tell your sister?"

 

"I don't know. That I'm bringing a friend for Christmas, and if she wants to see me, she'd better shut up about it."

 

"It might be suspicious for us to suddenly disappear." Sholto took one last puff of smoke and threw the cigarette out the window.

 

"But it's Christmas."

 

"Doesn't matter when there's gossip to be told."

 

"Then we'll leave different days." All this cloak and dagger seemed a bit much; John suspected that no one would notice if they left, but if it would get Sholto out of town with him, he'd do it. And getting away sounded better with each passing second. "Look, my sister has a flat in London. Even if they find out about us, they won't tell anyone. Plus, people never look at each other in London. We can blend into the background. Maybe even have a proper date."

 

"Do you think you'll come out to her?"

 

"I don't know. She probably already knows anyway."

 

Sholto snorted. "What?"

 

"She just knows this sort of stuff somehow. I don't know. Gaydar?"

 

"I don't think that's a real thing. Or if it is, mine's broken."

 

"Why?"

 

"I thought you were gay."

 

"To be fair, you weren't completely off the mark."

 

Sholto reached out and grabbed John's knee. "True."

 

John relaxed back into his seat, letting his knee drift towards Sholto. "What made you think that, anyway?"

 

"Besides your obvious attraction to me?" Sholto's eyes glinted in the near darkness, and his fingertips drifted to the underside of John's knee.

 

"Obviously."

 

"When we were talking about your reputation as a lady killer, you cringed. When I first joined the army, I told all kinds of stories about my various conquests to keep suspicion off of me. I thought you were trying to tell me that you did the same thing."

 

"Oh," John chuckled, patting the hand on his knee, "no, I just hate the nickname that comes with it."

 

John let his hand rest on Sholto's. As the quiet consumed the space, he circled each of Sholto's knuckles with his thumb. Sholto looked absorbed, staring out the windscreen and fiddling with the weather stripping at the top of his window. His thumb swept back and forth over John's knee, though John suspected he wasn't even aware of it. That was, until Sholto turned his head back towards John. With a small, sad smile, he slid his hand out from under John's and weaved his fingers into John's hair.

 

John closed his eyes as Sholto kneaded his fingertips against John's head, raising goose pimples on John's scalp and down his spine. He leaned into the touch, acquiescing to the forward pressure of Sholto's palm until John tilted over the center console. John slowly blinked his eyes open. Sholto's face was mere centimeters from John's. He watched John's mouth, and his thumb swept through John's hair and caressed behind his ear, though he wasn't moving to initiate the kiss that John had expected. John licked his lips and waited. But after a moment he got tired of waiting and grasped the sides of Sholto's shirt collar in each hand. He rubbed the soft cotton with his thumbs and raised his eyebrows before leaning the last little bit over the console until their lips could meet.

 

John pressed his lips to Sholto's, only slightly parted, and did not attempt any exploration with his tongue. Instead, he let Sholto take the lead, who caressed more with his hands than with his mouth. His other hand mirrored the first on John's head, framing John's hair in fingers and raising more goosebumps on his scalp and neck. John dropped his hands to Sholto's waist and soughed against his lips, though Sholto didn't seek to deepen the kiss. Instead, he drew John's lower lip into his mouth and held it there, pressing their mouths close. As he slowly exhaled, his breath warmed John's cheek.

 

After a long moment, a low, quiet sound escaped Sholto, and all the tension seemed to melt from his body. His hands skimmed over John's shoulders, and finally-- _finally_ \--John felt the wet roughness of Sholto's tongue against his lower lip. At that, Sholto slowly pulled back, his hands trailing down John's arms, and he smiled, small and sad.

 

John nudged Sholto's waist. "Come to London."

 

As Sholto ran his thumb over John's bottom lip, he replied, "Maybe it's better this way."

 

"That's stupid."

 

"Maybe." Sholto frowned, and his brows furrowed.

 

"Maybe." John cleared his throat and adjusted his position in his seat until he faced forward. As he propped his elbow on the center console he continued, "Look. James. Maybe . . . maybe I've found someone I really like, and I'm not too keen on giving that up."

 

"Me neither, but it will be easier now."

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "For fuck's sake, stop thinking about what is practical or what is prudent or what might perhaps happen in the future. Stop it with the fucking stoic grace. What do you want? Right now."

 

Sholto didn't answer right away, and John's heart raced; his fists and jaw clenched; he sniffed. If Sholto pulled the rug out from under him one more time, he was going to fucking lose it. What were the consequences for punching your CO in the face, anyway? Would they still be applicable if the person wasn't technically your CO anymore?

 

"Us," Sholto finally spoke.

 

_Oh thank God._ "That settles it then." John fanned his fingers against his thighs to ease the tension in his fists. "Start the car. I have a ticket for the train on the morning of Christmas Eve. You can have that one. I'll find an earlier seat."

 

Sholto started the engine. "Good luck."

 

***

 

The trip to London was a bit of a disaster. John was able to get a seat on the train leaving from Andover at 22:45, but there was a delay, and he missed his connection in Basingstoke. He finally caught a train into London just after midnight and pulled up to his sister's flat just after two in the morning. He paid the cabbie and wrestled his duffel from the back seat.

 

"Cheers," he called as the cab pulled away. As he turned to the outer door to Harry's flat, he blew a long, steamy puff of air. He slung the duffel over his shoulder and fished in his pocket for the keys. All right, now which one was it? John was able to quickly eliminate the keys to the barracks, which left three. Only two of which belonged to the doors to Harry's flat, and he couldn't even remember what the other one was supposed to go to. On the second try, he successfully got into the outer door. Now he had a fifty-fifty chance, and he cheered quietly when he got it right on the first try. As he opened the door and began climbing the stairs, he pulled the extra key from the ring and put it in his pocket.

 

He did a one-eighty at the landing, snuck past Harry's and Clara's bedroom to the sitting room, and dropped the duffel inside the doorway. Thank God he called to let them know he was coming early because there was a lilo waiting ready for him, covered in a crisp sheet, pillow at one end, and a blanket folded in the middle. He didn't even bother with pyjamas. He just kicked his shoes into the corner and landed face first on the pillow.

 

***

 

John was only vaguely aware as he woke up to something nudging at his foot, and he probably could have drifted off again if whatever it was hadn't decided to deliver a sharp blow. 

 

"Ow," John shouted as he shot up. Harry Watson stood above him, all delighted petite power with her ashen blonde hair in a long ponytail. She held two steaming cups of coffee in her hands and wore a smile far too wide for--John looked at his watch--eight o'clock. Okay, maybe the smile wasn't so uncalled for.

 

"Finally, he rises." Harry smirked as she handed John one of the mugs.

 

John squinted at her and took the mug. "I didn't think I ordered a wake-up call."

 

"Well, that's the kind of service you get at Casa de Watson."

 

John gulped a too-hot sip of coffee and grimaced. "Where's Clara?"

 

"In the kitchen. Want some breakfast? She's cooking a whole fry-up for my baby brother's triumphant return."

 

"Sure," John yawned. Harry offered her hand, and John took it, rising stiffly to his feet. "You're awfully chipper this morning."

 

Harry laughed. "What's not to be chipper about? The whole family's together, and my brother is bringing a new girlfriend for me to torment."

 

"Not a girlfriend," John replied as they walked into the kitchen. He set his mug on the kitchen table and waved to Clara, "Good morning. Just a sec."

 

John stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. As he did his business and flushed, he heard muttering on the other side of the door. He tried to make out what they were saying as he washed and dried his hands, but he didn't have any luck. And the talking stopped once he opened the door.

 

Harry slid away from Clara and into a seat on the table. "Not a girlfriend, hmm? So who is it?" Harry balanced her chin on the back of her hands, her eyes twinkling.

 

John cocked his head and smiled wryly as he raised his mug off the table. "It's good to be back to the warm hearth of family."

 

"Oh please, John, you can't blame me for thinking you were bringing some girl you just met that you wanted to shag in my sitting room." Clara set a plate of food in front of Harry's seat at the table and squeezed her shoulder. Harry watched her turn back to the stove with a serious expression.

 

Clara turned to John and gestured with a spatula. "Would you like something to eat, John?"

 

"Yes, of course." John set his mug down and scooted around the table to give Clara a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Clara. Good to see you."

 

"You too. Go on, have a seat. I've got it."

 

John sat at the table across from Harry, who was all but sulking. As Clara set a plate in front of John, she gently cleared her throat, and Harry perked up in her seat. John glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye as he looked up at Clara. "Thanks, it looks delicious."

 

"We have orange juice if you want some."

 

John smiled. "No thanks. I'm good with coffee."

 

Harry stabbed her fork into her breakfast and took a large bite. "When's your friend meant to arrive?" she asked around a mouthful of eggs.

 

"His train gets in before eleven, so probably just in time for lunch."

 

"All right. Do I know him?"

 

John shook his head and swallowed a bite. "No, I was deployed with him." He paused and pointed at Harry with his knife as Clara sat down with her food. "And he was my CO, so you'd better be on your best behavior."

 

Harry gasped in mock shock as Clara asked, "What's a CO?"

 

"Commanding officer," John replied.

 

"That sounds like a big deal." Clara scooped a dainty bite of eggs into her mouth and smiled at John as she chewed.

 

"It's really not." John sipped his coffee. "Oh, and Harry, I gave him your number. He's supposed to call when he's close by."

 

Harry groaned. "Why don't you just get a mobile?"

 

"Why? I spend most of my time where they don't work."

 

"So people actually have an opportunity to get in touch with you."

 

"I have a phone at the barracks and an email. I think that will do you just fine until I go back."

 

Harry threw up her hands in surrender. "All right. When is that anyway?"

 

"January. Maybe February." John said around a mouthful of food.

 

Harry's hands dropped. "This January?"

 

"Yep."

 

"You're fucking joking."

 

"Harry," came Clara's soft voice.

 

Harry glanced at Clara and held up her hand before leaning over the table with a scowl. "Why are you going back in January?"

 

"Because there's a shortage of doctors in Her Majesty's Army and only so many who will volunteer to be near the front lines."

 

"You fucking volunteered?" Harry shouted. "God damn it, John. You're going to get yourself killed."

 

"It's not that dangerous. Calm down."

 

"Like hell." Harry sat back in her chair, rocking and rubbing her hands on her thighs as she stared out the kitchen window. 

 

“For God’s sake, I’m a doctor at a FOB, not some infantryman.”

 

“Doctor’s die too, you know.”

 

“Yes. I actually learned that in medical school.”

 

“Don’t you fucking make a joke right now. All this selfless bravery shit is going to get you killed. Just remember I told you so.”

 

John swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. They were all silent for a moment. Clara gripped the edge of the table. 

 

Finally, Harry muttered, "Fuck this," and swept up out of her chair.

 

As Harry threw her coat over her shoulders, Clara stood up and pleaded, "Harry, wait."

 

But Harry didn't seem to hear her words, hurtling down the stairs out out the door. John ran a hand over his face and huffed as Clara sat back down. "Do you think she's going to--"

 

"No"--Clara shook her head--"I don't think so."

 

"Shall I go after her?"

 

Clara patted John's hand and smiled at him. "No, thank you. She'll be back. You eat your breakfast." At that, Clara stood. She picked up her plate and Harry's and scraped their contents into the rubbish bin. 

 

"Pardon me," she said once the dishes were safely nestled in the sink. Then she walked out of the kitchen and over to the sitting room, immediately picking up John's blanket and folding it. John looked down at the meal so lovingly prepared for him, and his stomach turned.

 

 


	13. Mufti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was assigned as my CO about--I wanna say--a year and a half ago. But it's only been about three or four months since I actually started getting to know him."
> 
> "Mm hm, and how long have you been seeing each other?"

Luckily, Harry returned to her flat about an hour before Sholto's train was meant to arrive. She was full of apologies and promises that Clara seemed to buy, though John was skeptical. He was just glad that she was sober when she showed up. He had been under the impression that Harry's sobriety was going well, so he was relieved to see that it was still the case.

Harry and Clara shared a few tearful kisses, and John got a squeeze on the shoulder. And then it was back to business as usual. John propped the lilo against the wall in the sitting room, and they watched news on the telly. Clara made a batch of hot chocolate, and they were all sipping at it when the phone rang.

Harry hopped up and trotted to the kitchen to answer it. Though John couldn't make out the exact words, it sounded rather boisterous, and he was under the impression that it was one of her friends on the other line until he looked out the front window to see Sholto stepping out of a cab.

"Oh, that's him," John said to Clara, who smiled and nodded in return. John walked across the hall and had just stepped off the landing when Harry hung up the phone.

"That was your friend, but I suppose you already know that."

"Yes," John called behind himself. "Ta."

He left the inner door open and made sure the outer door was unlocked as he stepped out to the pavement. "How was your trip?"

"Smooth." Sholto slung a duffel over his shoulder, and as he walked over and patted John on the shoulder, he continued, "You were right. It's good to be away."

"Well," John replied, holding out a hand for Sholto's duffel, though he refused to hand it over. "I must admit there's a bit more family drama than I anticipated."

"Family drama I can handle."

Sholto grabbed John's hand and squeezed it as the cab pulled away. John quickly dropped it to gesture towards the door. "Come on up."

He hurried ahead of Sholto to grab the door. As he held it open, he guided Sholto through by brushing his hand against the small of Sholto's back. He shut the outer door behind them and trailed Sholto up the stairs, closing the inner door as well once he was through. Sholto looked dashingly casual in a short brown leather coat and a pair of dark jeans that really did great things to his arse, not that John was looking.

Harry and Clara waited for them on the walkway from the kitchen to the sitting room, Harry only very nearly avoiding craning over the railing to catch a glimpse as Sholto made his way up the stairs. As Sholto crested the stairs, Clara closed the distance between them and held out her hand. 

As they shook, she said, "I'm Clara. It's lovely to meet you."

"We've heard absolutely nothing about you," said Harry, leaning merrily on the walkway's railing.

"Likewise," Sholto replied, holding out his hand for Harry, who burst into laughter.

"Oh shit. Sorry," John blurted. "Major Sholto, this is my sister Harry and her wife Clara. Harry, Clara, this is Major James Sholto."

Harry and Sholto shook hands, and Harry's smile had a wicked glint to it that John couldn't quite explain.

"Can I take your bag, Major Sholto?" came Clara's quiet voice from behind them.

"Nonsense." Sholto adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "Please call me James."

Harry's gaze flicked back and forth between John and Sholto. John swore he could hear crickets as they stood on the walkway. Finally, when John couldn't take it anymore, he chimed, "I believe we'll be sleeping in the sitting room. Right, Harry?"

"Yes," she replied, stepping backwards into the sitting room. "You can drop your bag anywhere. We've got the lilo propped up over here and there's the sofa if you need it. You should put John up there. I don't think you'd fit."

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," John cut in.

Sholto dropped his bag next to John's and pulled his coat off his shoulders. "Where should I put my coat?"

Clara emerged from her perch in the doorway with her hand held out. "I'll take it."

"Thank you."

"So"--Harry clapped and rubbed her hands together as John sat on the couch and Sholto moved to sit next to him--“there's a great Thai place just up the street. I was thinking takeaway."

"Yeah, okay," said John. Clara stepped back into the room, and Harry let her hand drift across Clara's shoulders as Clara made her way to an overstuffed pastoral armchair. Clara tucked her stocking feet under herself and smiled.

"What's on the menu?" Sholto asked.

"Oh, just leave it to me. I promise it won't disappoint. Am I right, Clara?"

"She's right."

"Thank you," Sholto said. "Let me give you some money."

Harry brushed that away. "Nonsense. You're our guest. Johnny, why don't you come with me? Help me carry."

"Um," John hummed and glanced at Clara and Sholto. "Yeah, all right."

John followed Harry out to the landing and put on his coat. He waved to Sholto and Clara as Harry called from the stairs, "Laters. Love you."

"Love you too," echoed Clara's voice on the staircase as John followed Harry out the door.

John closed the outer door behind them. "You know, we did just leave two of the quietest people I've ever met alone in a room together."

"Then I'm sure they'll enjoy the peace." Harry jerked her head to the side. "Come on."

Once they turned the corner at the end of Harry's street, she continued, "How long have you known Major Sholto?"

"He was assigned as my CO about--I wanna say--a year and a half ago. But it's only been about three or four months since I actually started getting to know him."

"Mm hm, and how long have you been seeing each other?"

John stopped in his tracks, and Harry kept walking, turning back to him with a shit eating grin once she got a few yards away. 

"I knew it." John trotted back up to her. "I knew you would know. How do you do that?"

"You seem to forget; I grew up with you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, baby brother"--she grabbed his collar and pulled him close to her side as they walked--"I know he's not the first."

John stared at her through the sides of his narrowed eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember the captain of your rugby team from when you were--when was it?--fifteen? And what about that professor at university? I don't remember his name. I think he taught ethics, and how's that for irony."

"Of course I remember them."

Harry gave him a very pointed look.

"Wha--" and then it dawned on him. "You thought I was--what--with them?"

"Weren't you?"

John shook his head. "No. No."

"What, seriously?"

John nodded once. Emphatically. "Yes!"

"Huh. All these years I thought you lost your virginity to that rugby captain."

"Chase? You're joking."

Harry threw her hands up. "Well, you two would disappear into your room for hours at a time, and you always had your music on so loud. And sometimes, I could hear grunts through the wall."

"We were practicing. For rugby."

Harry continued as if she didn't even hear him. "And you looked at him like he hung the moon, and I got so tired of hearing about how cool and athletic and funny he was. Not to mention how you two had no personal space around each other."

John's brow furrowed. "Huh." 

They walked the last few meters to the Thai place as John contemplated. While Harry ordered some phad thai and chicken satay, John stewed on his relationship with Chase half a lifetime ago. He supposed the situation as Harry saw it seemed rather incriminating. Sure, they were close. And possibly more affectionate than most of the rest of the team. But then John hadn't really be friends with them either. It had never even occurred to him to contemplate an attraction. Then again, he had been a bit of a late bloomer in that area. He'd had a girlfriend, briefly, that year, and they barely went past holding hands.

"Ready to go?" Harry's voice startled John out of his reverie.

They walked back out to the pavement, and Harry handed John a bag of food. It smelled amazing, and the crisp winter air actually felt pretty nice, but John couldn't ignore the niggling feeling in his stomach. "What about the professor?"

Harry chuckled. "Are you really so clueless?"

"Humour me."

"Mike thought you had something going on with him, too. It wasn't just me."

"Yeah. Ta for that."

"He was the one who brought it up. Not me."

John winced. His brows furrowed as he gestured with the takeaway bag, making the containers audibly jostle. "How?"

"Oh my God," Harry wheezed, "this is hilarious. I thought you were in the closet. I had no idea you were oblivious."

John clenched his jaw and switched the bag to his right hand to ease the tension in the left. "Look, can we just can the laughter for two seconds? I just want to know why you thought I was dating these men. What makes you so sure I was even attracted to these blokes?"

"What makes you so sure you weren't?"

"God, this is just like you," John muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You mean being right? I agree." Harry flashed him the mischievous smile that meant she was trying to deflect an argument, though whether it would work this time, John couldn't yet tell. Though he felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"I just find it hard to believe that you could have possibly been so sure of my sexual preference when I hadn't even considered an attraction to men."

"All right. Put yourself in my shoes. You're out for drinks with your brother and his friend when suddenly, your brother looks across the bar and gasps." She paused for a dramatic re-enactment of a gasp, complete with wide eyes and a hand over the mouth. John was not impressed. "He says, 'That's my ethics professor. I'm going to buy him a drink.' So he goes over there, and you watch him make all the classic flirting moves. And the professor? Oh, he's eating it up. You with me so far?"

John narrowed his eyes at her. "Yeah."

"Well, then all things being equal, you see a pretty girl and have yourself a flirt and lose track of your brother. When it comes time to leave, he's nowhere to be found. So you think, 'He's an adult. He can care for himself.' But it doesn't end there. Oh no. On your way back to student housing, you see your brother and his professor through the window of a coffee shop, sharing a table, barely a hair's breadth apart. And here's the kicker. Their feet"--she pointed down and twirled her fingers--"are intertwined under the table."

John watched her through the sides of his eyes. She was looking so fucking smug, but John didn't remember any of that. "That didn't happen."

Harry shrugged. "If you say so, but ask Mike about it next time you see him."

"Yeah," John scoffed. "That's gonna happen." He hadn't seen Mike for a decade.

Harry looked over at him and smiled in that my-brother's-such-a-moron way that made John crazy. She glanced up at something and gestured to John's right. 

"Want to go in?"

John turned his head to be confronted with the sign for Oz Wines. "Um"--his brow furrowed as he slowly shook his head--"no."

"Relax. I need to buy a gift. My boss is from Australia. This would be perfect for him. I can't believe I hadn't thought of it before." Without seeking further input from John, Harry threw open the shop door and walked inside. John swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn't quite disappear. He followed her in. She was already standing behind a chest-high rack, reading the label of one of the bottles. John sidled up to the other side of the rack and stuffed his free hand in his coat pocket.

Harry put down the bottle and picked up another. "Why are you clinging so hard to your heretofore heterosexuality anyway?"

John shushed her. "Could you speak a little quieter?"

Harry jerked her head towards a middle-aged woman who was sitting on a stool by a cash register, reading a book and also being the only other person in the store. "You really think she heard? Or cares?"

John shrugged, ready to get out of the shop already. But instead of picking a wine and getting out of there, Harry stared at him. John looked back at her defiantly. "What?"

"You brought a man home, John. And you acted like a nervous puppy starting the moment he arrived. I thought you were going to pee on the floor. Just admit it. Come on, the jig is up."

"Listen," John began, a little louder than intended. He continued more quietly. "I'm not denying it. I'm bisexual. James is my boyfriend. I’m nervous about him meeting my family. That's all fine. Maybe I had some repressed feelings for these men. I can concede that, but nothing happened. And your attitude about it is just plain annoying." 

Really, in the end, did it matter whether he was subconsciously attracted to a couple of his friends? Why couldn’t Harry just concede to reasonable doubt? Instead of treating him like an idiot?

"Were you always so certain you were only interested in women?"

"Yes." Harry displayed a bottle to John. "I think I'll get this one. It looks nice."

"By all means."

***

When they returned to the flat, John took the steps two at a time in front of Harry. Clara and Sholto were engaged in a card game when John walked into the kitchen and started unpacking the bag on the counter. 

"Plates? Silverware?" John asked as Harry walked into the kitchen.

Clara glanced at the tall, skinny, brown paper bag in Harry's hand as she stood. "I'll get them."

"No, keep your seat." But Clara reached into the cabinet with the plates anyway. "I didn't mean to interrupt. What are you playing?"

"Noddy," Sholto answered, packing up the cards. 

And once Harry set her bags on the table, she raised her hands in mock surrender. "It's a gift."

Though the four of them shared pleasant conversation at lunch, John still felt as if something was amiss. They played a few card games, watched some telly, and all in all, had a nice quiet day. And Harry was true to her word. The wine stayed in its bag on the kitchen counter until Harry dragged Clara to their bedroom soon after a late supper, citing that surely John and Sholto needed their rest, with a not-so-subtle wink from Harry.

Once the door to the bedroom closed, John stretched his chest and said, "Do you want to stay up and watch some telly?"

"Actually, I'm wiped."

"At nine o'clock? Old man." John smirked as he pulled the lilo away from its perch against the wall. Sholto grabbed the other end and helped him place it in the middle of the floor. Together, they unfolded the blanket and arranged it on the mattress. John dropped one pillow at the end and then held the other one in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head towards the lilo. Sholto chuckled and nodded, and John dropped the other pillow next to the first. "Do you need a shower?"

Sholto nodded. "Yes. I smell like the train."

"It's a little quirky. Let me show you." John maneuvered around the lilo and out to the walkway.

"All right," John said as they crowded into the tiny bathroom. "Here's your standard issue temperature knob, but it has to be in the exact center before you switch it from the tap to the shower. And then you can adjust the temp. Also, don't use the toilet or the sink while the shower's running."

As John turned around, he was surprised to find Sholto towering over him, a little crooked smile on my face. "You could have told me that in the sitting room."

John's lips pursed, and his brows knitted together. "Oh. I suppose so."

"You just needed an excuse to get me in a tight space and lean over in front of me." Sholto reached over to the door without letting any more space come between them and moved to shut it, though he left it open a crack.

John chuckled. "I actually hadn't thought of that, but I'll keep it in mind."

Sholto hummed his agreement and wrapped his arms around John's waist. He stooped to kiss John square on the mouth, and in this position, John couldn't help but notice that their hips lined up perfectly. As Sholto's hands settled on his hips, John tangled his fingers in Sholto's hair. Sholto pressed hard against him, hips to lips. They kissed sloppily, mouths sliding and teeth nipping in what was quickly becoming a frenetic energy. God, John just wanted to eat him up, taste every inch of him. How did Sholto do that to him? Every time they touched, John turned into a horny teenage version of himself, hungry for everything all at once.

A groan tried to make its way out of John's throat, but he quickly bit it off as Sholto's hands gripped his bum. And then John's back was pressed against the wall, and he could feel Sholto's cock, hard and hot against his. And his hips pressed upwards against Sholto's as his hands gripped the sides of Sholto's shirt and yanked him closer. Their breaths came hotter and faster and louder as they thrust against each other in hungry abandon.

Fuck. They couldn't do this here. The bedroom door was barely four steps away, and Harry probably had her ear pressed against it. But then Sholto slowed down, slipped a hand down the back of John's trousers, touched his fingertips along John's horizontal gluteal crease. Sholto's lips grazed John's cheek as he broke the kiss to catch his breath. Hot breath tickled John's scalp as Sholto used his grip on John's arse to guide their movements. God, he felt good, and if this was what the train smelled like, John would like to stay there forever.

He pressed his nose to Sholto's manubrium and breathed deep, letting his mouth drop open so his teeth could graze just below the joint. Sholto made a noise at that, something not quite a gasp, not quite a moan, but enough to remind John that prying ears could be listening. They had to stop. Or at least turn on the shower or something. But Sholto's throat just could not go untasted. Not for one more second. John pressed his mouth to Sholto's suprasternal notch, tracing the joints on either side with his tongue. He ripped Sholto's shirttails from his jeans, pressing bare hands to bare back. He traced the curves and planes of Sholto's back before circling around to run his fingertips across strong abdominals. All the while, his mouth and tongue made a slow journey up Sholto's throat.

"John," Sholto huffed, squeezing the entirety of one of John's buttocks in his hand. John whined against Sholto's throat, and though his brain distantly supplied that this was still not the place, his body couldn't be denied. Sholto stepped back and to the side just enough to press his thigh between John's legs, and John happily acquiesced to the pressure, parting his legs enough to allow a slight egress. But not too much, John still wanted to make Sholto work for it if only because the pressure against his legs and his bollocks felt so fucking good.

A long, hot rush of air escaped Sholto's lungs as his thigh became fully seated between John's legs, their cocks pressing into each other's hips. Sholto pushed his hand against John's gripped buttocks, and John followed the lead. 

"Something tells me you like it when I rub against your thigh," John murmured into Sholto's ear, unable to resist at the last second to snatch the lobe between his teeth.

"I told you that." Sholto punctuated his speech with the soft click of the door latch. 

But unfortunately, that soft click was enough to remind John of exactly where they were. Though his hands still roamed Sholto's torso, his thumbs finding erect nipples and tongue darting out at the suggestion of tasting them, he lamented, "Harry's a notorious snoop."

Sholto ran his thumb over John's bottom lip, pulling it down just slightly, and John couldn't help but dip his head down and draw that succulent digit into his mouth. "Doesn't she already know?"

John released Sholto's thumb. "How do you know that?"

"It's obvious." Sholto stooped to nibble at John's jaw just below his ear.

John's head thumped against the wall, and although his hips continued to circle against Sholto's thigh, he said, "She's also convinced that I had an affair with my ethics professor from university."

"Did you?"

"No," John breathed, and realized with a squeeze against his arse that he had stopped moving. "But if she walks in on this, there'll be no talking to her."

Sholto smirked, reached over and turned on the tap, and with one more deft movement, lukewarm water flowed freely from the shower head. "Well then you'd better be quiet."

Sholto pulled his other hand swiftly from John's pants. John's mouth popped open in surprised indignation until he felt fingers freeing his belt from its buckle. Then they worked free his button and pulled down the zip, and then Sholto was kneeling and shimmying John's jeans and pants down his hips. 

"I never knew you had such a naughty side,” John said. “I think I like it."

Rather than make a reply as such, Sholto quickly shushed John and then cut off any reply by running the tip of his tongue up John's frenulum and over his slit, licking up a bead of precome. John's head thudded against the wall as Sholto tugged his hips forward, setting John just enough of balance that he had to lean on the wall for support. And without any further preamble, Sholto's mouth engulfed John's cock.

"Shit," John hissed, his hips stuttering and knees wobbling. He struggled to regain his balance as Sholto's head bobbed and tongue wriggled, but it was useless. John was overwhelmed with sensation, wet heat and relentless movement on his cock, hands kneading his arse and pressing between his legs. John's breath came hard and fast, vocal cords barely managing to not engage. John bit down on his knuckles in an attempt to stop the breathy sounds from growing any louder. And beneath it all, John couldn't help but feel that Sholto wanted him to cry out. That Sholto wanted everyone in the flat, and possibly the ones below and on either side, to know exactly what was happening in that bathroom.

John shut his eyes tight and concentrated on taking even breaths through his nose even as his hips canted in and out of Sholto's fucking glorious mouth. God, his warm, wet, fucking talented mouth. John's head rolled from side to side against the wall; his shoulders pressed painfully against it, and his feet were threatening to cramp from standing on his toes. But he somehow managed to remain quiet, at least quiet enough that he could hope that the shower covered it up.

Sholto's fingers dug into John's hips, guiding him into a rhythm, and John tangled the fingers of his free hand into Sholto's hair. Oh fuck, he could feel the hairs of Sholto's beard against his balls. It felt so good, but he wanted more. He tilted his hips upwards in an attempt to get Sholto's chin closer; he pressed at the nape of Sholto's neck, trying to send him the clue that he couldn't verbalize, but Sholto popped off instead.

"Wha-" John began, but stopped when Sholto's lips wrapped around one testicle. He drew it into his mouth and pressed his face to John's groin, the hair of his beard rubbing against John's scrotum, tickling his thighs, and occasionally grazing the underside of John's cock. A low whine escaped John's throat before he could stop it, and Sholto switched to the other testicle. The suction and pressure felt so good but somehow made John feel as if orgasm was growing more distant, which only made him more desperate for it. And he was probably going to have stubble burn on his scrotum. Good.

Sholto's tongue dipped back to John's perineum. His hot breath ruffled John's pubic hairs, and the friction of his facial hair on John's groin and inner thighs teetered on the precipice between pain and pleasure. John couldn't help himself. He pressed his groin against Sholto's face and huffed, "You bastard."

Suddenly, Sholto stood, towering over John, his breath hot and fast on John's scalp. John’s eyes darted between Sholto’s eyes and mouth, his endocrine system overwhelmed, and then Sholto gripped him by the nape of the neck and stooped to his ear. The rush of air against his ear mixed with the rush of blood in his head to create a heady buzz of--what--fear? Anticipation? He couldn't call anything to mind but the ache for release and the blood thrumming through his veins. And Sholto's lips and rushing breath against his ear.

And then John felt lips smiling against his ear and heard Sholto's voice, rough and low. "What fun would staying quiet be if I didn't make it at least a bit challenging?"

John couldn't help but chuckle even as Sholto's hands slid down John's arms to clasp their hands together. Their mouths found each other in easy affection, and John caught a bit of the giggles as Sholto's mouth smiled against his. The giggles didn't quite die off when Sholto lifted John's hands and let them drop gently on Sholto's belt. As John raised his eyebrows, he hummed against Sholto's mouth and took the hint, working the belt free from its buckle more slowly than was strictly necessary. Meanwhile, Sholto pushed John's pants and trousers past their perch on John's knees until they pooled around his ankles.

With their foreheads pressed together, they watched John's fingers unbutton and unzip Sholto's trousers. And finally, John pushed Sholto's trousers and pants past his hips and watched his cock bob free. A shuddery breath escaped Sholto as John wrapped his hand around Sholto's cock, running his thumb over a bead of precome and spreading it against the slit. John licked his lips, but as he moved to kneel, Sholto stopped him. "Wait."

John looked up at Sholto, and his furrowed brows were mirrored back for a fleeting moment before Sholto held up one finger, gripped the waist of his trousers in the other hand, and stepped backwards. He opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. For a moment, he just stood there, looking in the cabinet, but then he plucked a bottle from one of the shelves. 

"Do you think they'll mind?" he asked, holding it out for John.

"No, but I might. I don't know how I feel about using my sister's lube."

Sholto turned the bottle over in his hand and then flipped it to look at the bottom. "I don't think they use it much. And it's good stuff."

Sholto tossed it in the air, and John caught it on instinct. He felt a bit miffed until Sholto crowded into his space again and let his trousers drop. "Don't you at least want to know what I wanted to do with it?"

John looked down at the bottle, plastic but made to look like frosted glass with a pink pump at the top. He didn't know how Sholto knew this was lube and not some fancy beauty product, but a look at the label supplied that it was silicone-based lubricant. When John looked back up, Sholto had stepped out of his trousers and taken off his shirt. So there was John, half-naked with a bottle of fancy lube and a whole lotta naked Sholto. He licked his lips. 

"What did you plan?"

"Step in the shower with me."

"Think you've found my weak spot, don't you."

"Maybe." Sholto snatched the bottle from John's hand and stepped into the basin, whipping the curtain closed behind him. Well, what was a Watson to do? He disentangled his trousers from his ankles and yanked his shirt over his head. Then he stepped in behind Sholto to find him leaning over, adjusting the temperature. A picture of him kneeling behind Sholto and doing to him what he did to John in the shower flashed through John's mind, and he licked his lips. He wanted to reach out, skim his fingertips along Sholto's perineum. As channels of water danced over and in between Sholto's buttocks, John imagined following their paths with his tongue. And he was lost in that thought until Sholto turned around.

John, feeling slow and hazy, watched through thickening steam as Sholto pumped lube onto his palm. 

"Ready?" he asked as he spread it in his hand, and although John wasn't sure what he was supposed to be ready for, he nodded. Sholto's fingers wrapped softly, teasingly, around John's cock, curling delicately underneath as his palm rubbed at the head. John thrust involuntarily into the touch, catching himself on the curtain rod. He had to admit it was very nice lube. Velvety.

Sholto squirted a few more drops of lube into his hand and perched the bottle on the edge of the basin. And John had to admit he was a bit confused when Sholto grabbed his own cock, spreading lube down the shaft and over the head, but his mouth watered anyway. He stepped forward into Sholto's space and wrapped his hands over Sholto's hip bones, sliding them back and down as he crowded closer. He squeezed. Damn, that was a fine arse, so muscular and supple, and the skin impossibly smooth. John ran his fingertips over the skin and relished the feeling of goosebumps left in their wake.

He muffled a groan against Sholto's chest. God, how he wanted his mouth on that bum. Wanted to sink his teeth in it. He wanted to duck down underneath it and trace every ridge on the skin of Sholto's balls with his tongue. Press his nose to Sholto's perineum. But before his lust-addled body could respond to his brain's commands, he felt fingers curling against the underside of his cock, and a long expanse of smooth, velvety skin sliding along top. John thrust into the tunnel created by Sholto's hand, not bothering to look down to confirm what he suspected because he suspected the sight would make him come on the spot. No, the sensations of his glans nestled against furrowed skin, of slick, silken skin sliding, of fingers curled tightly underneath and the pad of a thumb brushing along the side, were enough to go on.

"Fuck," John cursed against Sholto's pectoral before sealing his lips to it, sucking hard until he felt his lungs would burst. His teeth grazed over the skin as he panted, trying to catch his breath without making a sound. Sholto somehow managed to stay quiet, the only vocal evidence of his enjoyment a few breathy ah's. But John didn't need Sholto to be vocal to know that they were both enjoying this immensely. John could feel the blood rushing where his face was pressed to Sholto's chest. He could hear the shallow panting. He could feel gluteal muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his fingertips.

John felt Sholto's lips ghosting along his hairline, and suddenly the contact that had been so thrilling wasn't quite enough anymore. His left hand flew from Sholto's buttock to the nape of his neck, and he dragged Sholto's mouth down to his. He pressed their mouths tight together and sucked Sholto's bottom lip between his teeth, letting his bottom teeth graze against it as his tongue ran across. He tilted his head, the hair of Sholto's beard rubbing against his chin and cheek, and sealed his lips to Sholto's.

Their lips and tongues moved in an uncoordinated tangle, their bodies too wrapped up in the growing tension in their bellies. John huffed against Sholto's cheek, his whole body straining in the effort to stay quiet, and he had no idea how he was going to orgasm when so much of his energy was focused on holding his voice. As the fingers of one hand tangled in the hair on Sholto's nape, John reached the other hand down to join Sholto's on their cocks. His fingertips brushed over Sholto's knuckles, and then he was pulsing, shuddering against Sholto's body. John cried out despite himself, but Sholto muffled it with his lips, enveloping John's body with his own.

As John came down, he broke away from Sholto's lips and rested his head on Sholto's shoulder. As ill-advised as shower sex was at the moment, it was in-fucking-credible. Well worth the hassle he might have to deal with on Christmas. John pressed his lips to Sholto's clavicle and let himself slip from Sholto's grip. Soon, John's fingers joined Sholto's in working his cock. John ran his fingers over the back of Sholto's. He rubbed Sholto's glans with the heel of his hand as Sholto's fist worked up and down. And as he slid his fingers back to cup Sholto's testicles, John pressed his lips to the crook of Sholto's neck, letting his teeth push against delicate skin as his tongue drew along the pulse point.

On Sholto's testicles John found the evidence of his own orgasm, and he groaned, spreading it around. He wanted to paint Sholto's body with it. Leave a stripe down his abdomen and lick it off. But instead, he spread it to Sholto's perineum and circled his fingers against it, pressing up until Sholto gasped. 

"More," Sholto huffed. "Harder."

John pressed his fingers up, looking for just the right spot to stimulate the prostate, and he must have found it because a moment later, Sholto was shuddering and spilling against John's thigh. John continued his massage until Sholto stilled and slumped, resting his cheek against John's forehead.

John leaned up and kissed the crook between Sholto's neck and chin, and there he spotted an arc of teeth marks. He stood straight and ran his fingers over them. "Shit. Now she's really going to be impossible."

As Sholto wrapped his arms around John's waist, he replied, "I may have packed a polo neck."

"Good thinking." John pushed up on his toes and placed a soft kiss on Sholto's lips. "Either way, it was worth it."

He squeezed Sholto's arse cheek and gave it one good pat, hard enough to make a splash. "I'm going to head to bed. Do you want me to bring you some pyjamas?"

Sholto shook his head and gave John one more kiss before John ducked past the curtain and out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and draped an extra across the sink. As he cracked open the door, he peeked in the hall for any sign of the ladies of the house, but there was none to be found. Except if he listened carefully, he could hear the drone of a television from behind the bedroom door. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and stage-whispered, "Goodnight," before closing the bathroom door behind him and tiptoeing down the hall.


	14. Fish & Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t how this trip was supposed to go, but at the same time, John didn’t know why he expected anything different. But Harry had been doing so well. The last time she went more than six months sober was before John joined the army. He shouldn’t have come to London. Him being there and bringing Sholto and then dropping his news on her was just too much. He should have known.

John opened his eyes to the dim grey London night diffused on the ceiling of Harry’s flat. Huh. What could have woken him up? A snuffle escaped through Sholto’s mouth and nose straight into John’s ears. Ah, there it was. So, John shuffled himself backwards until he was in the little spoon position, where he grabbed Sholto’s arm and wiggled it while pulling it over himself.

“Snoring,” John mumbled, which got a grunt from Sholto.

“John,” a voice whispered. He thought he might have imagined it, so he waited to see if he would hear it again. After several seconds of silence, he settled against Sholto and closed his eyes.

“John,” came the voice again, this time accompanied by a wiggle to John’s toes. He leaned forward and propped himself on his elbow.

“Clara,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Have you seen Harry?”

Well, wasn’t that marvelous. “Not since you two went to bed.”

“She’s not here.”

He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “What happened?”

“We fought about the wine.” She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “And then I went to sleep. I thought it was resolved. I thought we were fine. But then I woke up, and she was gone.”

“Is the wine still here?”

“No.”

Shit. “I’m sorry, Clara. This is my fault. I stressed her out about Afghanistan, and then I let her go into a wine store.”

“No,” she huffed quietly. Polite even as she was falling apart. “It’s Harry’s fault. Don’t blame yourself for the actions of other people.”

John propped his face on his hand, exasperated. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“She has a few favorites, but what’s going to be open at two o’clock Christmas morning?”

“Does she have any hidey holes or friends she might stay with?”

Clara set her jaw. “She’d better not.”

For Clara, that was a sign of unfettered rage. “Did something happen?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is keeping my wife from drinking or freezing herself to death.”

“Have you tried calling her phone?”

“Of course!” She cringed as Sholto grunted. “Sorry.”

Clara waited as Sholto rolled over and settled back into sleep.

“She left it here,” Clara finished.

“All right, let me get some trousers on. Do you have a car?”

“No.”

“Bundle up, then.” John stood and shuffled over to his duffel.

“You’re a saint, John.”

“Tell me about it later. Go get dressed.”

Clara scurried into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. As he pulled on a pair of trousers, John heard, “Is everything all right?”

John flinched. “You startled me. How long have you been awake?”

“Since ‘do you have a car.’”

“Why didn’t you say something?” John pulled apart a pair of socks and sat in the armchair.

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Well, intrusions aside, Harry’s gone missing. We’re going to look for her.”

“All right.” Sholto stood and grabbed the trousers he wore that day from a stack of dirty clothes.

“What are you doing?” John asked as he put on a pair of trainers.

“I’m going to help you.”

“James, you don’t need to get involved with this. I didn’t bring you here so you could get dragged into the drama.”

“Nonsense. I’m here; I’m helping. I have more experience in search and rescue than either of you do. Unless the mild-mannered soap maker is just the alter ego of her superhero.”

John chuckled. “Not as far as I know.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.”

**

A few minutes later, Clara locked the door behind them, and they went their separate ways. Sholto had pulled up a map of the neighborhood on his mobile and assigned each of them sectors. From the flat, they’d all cover their sectors in expanding arcs until one of them found her, and then the one who found her was meant to call the others. John carried Harry’s mobile.

The streets were empty as John turned corners and crossed roads, working his way out. A few Christmas lights twinkled, but most of the bulbs lay dormant, the owners having long since gone to bed. A whipping wind blew dirty snow from the kerb into John’s face. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

Harry had been doing so well. The last letter John had received from Clara when he was deployed said that Harry was just about to celebrate six months sober. What could have triggered her? It had to be the discussion about John going back. He should have just stayed quiet about. He should have tried to de-escalate. He should have gone after her. He shouldn’t have let her buy the wine.

He spotted steam rising from a splatter of vomit, and his eyes darted around. She had to be nearby. She wasn’t out in the open, so where could she be? All the shops were closed, and he couldn’t imagine that Harry would break into someone’s home under any circumstances.

Just then, he heard retching from a few yards away. Harry was sitting crossways in a narrow alley, her toes pressed against the wall, her cheeks streaked and blotchy, a trail of vomit on the front of her coat. And yet, she lifted the bottle for another drink.

John snatched it from her, throwing it into the gutter. He crouched next to her. “How much have you had?”

“Fuck off, Johnny,” she slurred. Her eyes drifted closed.

“Hey!” John snapped his fingers by her ear as he pulled out her mobile. “Don’t go to sleep.”

As he got on the horn to 999, he stripped off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. Sallow skin. Icy hands.

“I need an ambulance. Suspected alcohol poisoning.” He snapped his fingers by Harry’s ear again as he gave the cross streets.

Harry slumped down so her body made a lopsided zig-zag across the alleyway. “She’s gonna leave me, Johnny. Everybody always leaves me.”

John kept talking to the woman on the line rather than reply to Harry’s comment. Though Clara was incredibly loyal, to a fault, if she left Harry, John wouldn’t have faulted her. Harry had put her through a lot of shit.

“Why did she ever agree to marry me? Didn’t she know I would fuck it up? Why put yourself through that?”

“Because she loves you,” John replied.

“No.” Her head wobbled side to side. “No one will ever love us, Johnny. We’re too much of a mess.”

John clenched his jaw as he got off the phone and dialed Clara.

“I cheated on her.”

John’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

Harry nodded, whispering as if it were a valid excuse, “I was drunk.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry, what is wr-”

“Hello?” came Clara’s voice over the phone.

“I found her. I have an ambulance on the way. Bring water if you can.” John gave her their location and hung up. “That’s really fucked up, Harry.”

John glanced down at the mobile as he dialed Sholto, and when he looked up, Harry’s head was slumped to the side. He dropped the phone and snapped by her ear. Nothing. He pushed on her shoulders. “Harry! Wake up!”

When he still got no response, he grinded his knuckles into her sternum.

“Jesus fuck, John! What are you doing?”

“You’re welcome.”

“That really hurt.” She stroked her palm over her chest, rubbing the trail of sick into the wool of her coat.

“And it may have just saved your life, so just shut up about it.” His right fist clenched painfully tight as he checked her pulse. “Show me your tongue.”

“What? No.”

His jaw clenched and blood rushed in his ears. “I swear to God, Harry. If you don’t show me your tongue right now, I will pry your mouth open.”

At that, Harry hunched to the side and vomited. She wiped her mouth on the collar of John’s coat. “Still want to see it?”

“Yes.”

Harry opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. She was dehydrated as shit. Hopefully Clara was able to find some water.

“You’re paying to get my coat cleaned.”

Harry’s eyes flickered. “Okay.”

“Hey.” He patted her face. “Don’t close your eyes. You need to stay awake. Do you have a hat or gloves or anything?”

She rolled her head back and forth on the wall. “No.”

"Harry!" came Clara's voice from behind John. Her feet slapped against the pavement, and she skid to a stop, water bottle in hand. With the water sloshing violently in its container, Clara passed it over.

"Thanks," John muttered as he twisted the cap.

Clara squatted by Harry, her coat bunched above the knees of her pink pyjama pants. "Harry, honey, are you all right?"

"I just need to go home and get some sleep," Harry slurred.

"No." John held the water bottle to Harry's lips. "You need to go to A&E. Sip slowly."

Harry drank the proffered water, a few drops dribbling down her chin. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. She lifted her hand, her movements slow and shaky, and dropped it on Clara’s knee.

“I messed up, baby.”

“I know,” Clara deadpanned, and John was reminded that he was kneeling directly in between them. As they watched each other, their faces morphed between anger and sadness and all the subtle levels in between.

“The ambulance should be here any minute.” John pushed himself up against his knee and stood, stretching his shoulders and chest. Wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his hands up and down his arms, he snuck to the kerb. Any minute now, there’d be warm blankets and IV fluids and proper medication.

At the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps, John turned. Sholto was running towards him on the pavement. John smiled even as he furrowed his brows. How did Sholto know where they were? John hadn’t had the opportunity--

Oh, shit. John looked back at Harry and Clara, still in dangerous silence, to see Harry’s phone face-up on the ground.

“Sorry.” John cringed as Sholto cantered up to him.

“Nonsense,” Sholto replied, clapping his hands over John’s shoulders and rubbing his biceps. “What happened to your coat?”

“Gave it to Harry.” John shivered, his adrenaline rush abating enough to remind him that it was fucking freezing outside.

“All right.” Sholto shrugged out of his coat and threw it over John’s back.

John laughed as Sholto tugged the sides of the coat around John’s body and held them closed at the front. “Thank you, but I can’t let you give me your coat.”

“Nonsense.”

John glanced to Harry and Clara. Clara helped Harry sip from the water.

Sholto nodded towards them. “How is she?”

“Not great.” John scratched at his stubble. “I called an ambulance. Should be here soon.”

As if on cue, blue lights flashed against the buildings surrounding them, and the wailing siren made Harry cry out and press her hands to her ears. John shrugged out of Sholto’s coat and held it out for him. He didn’t wait to make sure Sholto caught it before trotting for the ambulance.

As the technicians hopped out with their kits, John walked with them to brief them on the situation.

“Can you walk?” one of them asked Harry.

She nodded and pushed herself against the wall. As she inevitably faltered, Clara swooped in to catch her. John jerked towards them but stopped when the paramedic grabbed onto Harry’s elbow opposite Clara. Forgotten, John’s coat slipped to the ground and straight into a slick of sick.

Great.

As Clara and the paramedic helped Harry stumble to the ambulance, John stooped to pick up his coat. It smelled awful, like alcohol and hot chocolate that had gone off. He knocked off as much of the mess as he could without touching it, and his jaw clenched. This was the time to be concerned with Harry’s safety, but he was angry. For a fleeting moment, he wished he hadn’t gotten there in time, but he swallowed that down. He loved his sister. He didn’t want her to die, but he was sick and tired of this shit.

He watched Clara help Harry into the ambulance, her face a mask of concern, her hands trembling, and every move loving and gentle. He didn’t know how Clara did it. How she came home to Harry every day, never knowing which version she would get, he couldn’t fathom.

Clara climbed in after Harry, and the driver closed the back doors, striding around the side of the vehicle.

“Wait!” John hailed the driver, trotting over to him. “Where are you taking her?”

“Saint George’s.”

“Thank you. Tell them I’ll meet them there.”

John didn’t hear the driver call back in assent as he hurried back to Sholto. He held his jacket by the unsoiled part of the collar and thumped the lining against his knee. Sholto stood still, hands in his pockets, posture straight but not stiff. One couldn’t say that about John. He was stiff as a board. No, he was stiff as an iron rod. He rubbed his palm over his mouth as he watched a reflection in a window of the ambulance pulling out.

After a few thumps accompanied by stillness, John said, “I should call a cab. Is it all right if I borrow your mobile?”

“Of course.” Sholto hiked up the bottom of his coat to reach in his pocket, revealing a tiny sliver of belly. As the sliver disappeared and Sholto held out his palm with the phone propped on it, John pictured wrapping his arms around Sholto and kissing him. Right here on the pavement. Even with the smell of sick still lingering. He just wanted Sholto wrapped around him. He wanted Sholto to envelop him, swallow him up in leather and cotton.

He took the phone with a barely contained hand tremor, swallowing hard. There weren’t any buttons on it. “How do you work this thing?”

***

Sholto called a cab company, and a tired, surly cabbie brought them to St. George’s A&E. After much red tape and being sent to ward after ward, they finally located Harry and Clara.

Clara sat in a waiting room watching a silent television, her feet tucked under her on the rigid chair. Her chin rested on the back of her hand, and her eyes drifted between open and closed. John sat next to her and laid his hand over her shoulder.

“Hmm?” Clara grunted as her feet popped out from under her and her head popped up. “Oh John, you didn’t have to come.”

“Nonsense,” John said, settling into the chair. “How is she?”

“Detoxing.” She rubbed her eyes, pressed her fingertips to her eyebrows.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“No. I’m just waiting until someone tells me I can go in.” Clara’s arms flopped to the armrests, and she stared at the telly. Her eyes blinked slowly, and her expression left not so much as a crinkle in her skin. If John hadn’t seen her shifting in her seat, he would have thought she was asleep. She looked numb.

After an interminable time reading the captions on the television, they were called back to Harry’s room. But, just before they walked in, Clara stopped. She spun around, placing a hand on the doorframe to block the entrance.

“Would you mind”--Clara swallowed, glanced at the doorway--”giving us a minute?”

“Of course.” John stepped back, his gaze landing on Sholto standing a few feet away. “We’ll just wait out here.”

“Thank you.” The corners of Clara’s mouth turned up slightly and warmth filled her eyes. She squeezed John’s arm. “You two are sweet.”

At that, she strode into the room and let the door close behind her.

John walked the few paces to Sholto and collapsed against the wall. As Sholto settled in beside him, John watched the ebbing bustle of nurses checking on their patients.

“All right, Watson?” Sholto asked.

“Yeah.” John nodded, his gaze following a nurse back to the nurse’s station. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sholto leaned sideways and ducked his head so that his mouth was near John’s ear. “Bullshit.”

A silent laugh huffed from John’s mouth, and for the second time that night, he felt like kissing Sholto in public. Instead, he squeezed Sholto’s hand then let it go.

As they waited in silence, staring at the wall or watching the general buzz of the ward, the volume from the room next to them increased. Though it was difficult to tell exactly where the fight was going, a yelling Clara was truly dangerous. John flinched as a thud was followed by a metallic clatter.

A scream later, something slammed against the door, and a passerby and John both jumped. John walked to the door. He let his fingers rest against it, trying to decide whether or not to go in there. A stream of water grew out from the gap between the door and the floor.

“Let’s go get a coffee,” came Sholto’s voice.

John stared at the water, then snapped himself out of it. “All right. Coffee sounds good.”

***

John sat across from Sholto at a table in the hospital’s cafe, tapping the edge of a sugar packet on the surface. He slumped in the chair and crossed his legs ankle to knee. After rubbing a hand down his face, he tapped the packet some more.

Sholto mixed cream and sugar into his coffee and downed half of it in one go. 

John slurped his coffee, grimacing at the flavor.

“Sorry about this.” John gestured to the general vicinity.

“It’s all right. I’m glad I could help.”

“Yeah.” John tapped the sugar packet. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Sholto sipped his coffee and propped his arms on the table, posture still straight as an arrow. How did he always manage to look so composed? Stiff upper lip, old chap.

John slurped.

Sholto cradled his paper cup between his hands, and it looked so tiny. “Do you want to talk about it?”

John sighed, ran a hand through his hair and over the back of his head as he stared at the news ticker at the bottom of a television mounted in a corner. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No.”

“All right.” Sholto gulped the rest of his coffee and tidied away his cup of creamer and packet of sugar.

John watched the news ticker.

He sipped his coffee, and when Sholto’s hands touched his, he jolted out from his own world.

“I think it might be best if I went home in the morning,” Sholto said.

John set down his coffee and ran the warmed hand over his face. After a moment of staring into his coffee and scratching his stubble, he asked, “Why’s that?”

Sholto took John’s free hand from where it was worrying at a spot on his jaw and laid it on the table. “You have enough to worry about, and you can’t properly work through this as a family with me hanging around.”

John huffed out a breath through his nose and hooked a thumb over one of Sholto’s. “Yeah. Makes sense.” He stared at the telly. “Clara would be mortified knowing you heard her screaming.”

“She’s a good woman.”

“She is.” John flopped back into the chair, letting his hands slide from underneath Sholto’s. “Too much for her own good if you ask me.”

This wasn’t how this trip was supposed to go, but at the same time, John didn’t know why he expected anything different. But Harry had been doing so well. The last time she went more than six months sober was before John joined the army. He shouldn’t have come to London. Him being there and bringing Sholto and then dropping his news on her was just too much. He should have known.

John’s hand wrapped around his coffee cup, but he didn’t drink it. Instead, he ran his thumbnail up and down the seam on the side. Sholto looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, a slumped posture (for him at least), and hair pointing every which way. It had a bit of natural curl to it that John had never noticed, and beneath it, those eyes looked so soft and tender. 

“You look like shit,” John joked, smoothing Sholto’s hair back from his forehead.

A single breath that could be interpreted as a laugh escaped Sholto’s nose, and he smiled in a way that could only be described as tolerant. God, John wanted to kiss him. And he almost succumbed to temptation, too, letting his hand linger at the side of Sholto’s scalp, his thumb sweep over Sholto’s cheek.

But instead, he dropped his hand to the table. “What happens now?”

“You get some sleep.”

A smile fought to make its way to John’s face. “I meant after I get back to Tidworth.”

“Ah.” Sholto pressed the heels of his hands against the side of the table. “I’d like to see you again, but I don’t know how well that will work out.”

“Right.”

Sholto drummed his fingers. “Do you still have my number?”

John nodded. “In my desk at the barracks.”

“Good. Call me when you get back. We’ll see how the rumor mill is grinding.”

“Yeah. All right.”

“Good.”

Sholto stood, and as he tossed the rubbish, John followed suit. And then, without warning, Sholto pressed his hand to John’s face and gave him a loud, smacking kiss.

John smiled.

“Now”--Sholto clapped John on the shoulder--“go check on your sister and then go home and get some sleep.” He winked. “That’s an order.”

John chuckled, made a small salute. “Yes, sir.”


	15. Square Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hmm,” John acknowledged incredulously. And then, spitting it out before his mind could catch up to his mouth, “Do you think it’s possible to go thirty years oblivious of your own sexual preference?”

“Sholto.”

“Hello,” John answered, phone clutched in his hand. “It’s me.”

“Captain Watson. Good evening.” He sounded crisp, authoritative. God, John had missed that voice.

“Well, I’m back from London.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Everything go as you expected?”

Why was he so formal? Where was he. “Yes. Harry and Clara are on a trial separation. I had to help Harry find a place to stay before I came back.”

“Back to work tomorrow?” Not quite the answer he would have expected.

John scratched the back of his head. “Are you somewhere you can talk?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you want me to get off the phone?”

“No, keep going.” A blast of wind sounded through the speaker.

“All right.” John tapped his fingers on his desk, flipped the napkin with Sholto’s number over and over. “Do you want to meet somewhere?”

“No.”

“No?”

There was a dull thud, and then the wind stopped. Sholto let out a long sigh. “We can’t.”

“Oh.” John pursed his lips. “All right. Why not?”

“Your sergeant is not good at keeping secrets.”

“Bloody hell." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is bullshit.”

“It is.”

After a long pause, John swallowed, unsure what his voice would sound like.

“I miss you.” Sholto’s voice was quiet and rough.

“Yeah,” John answered, clearing his throat. “That is, me too.”

There was another long pause, but this time John broke it.

“There’s always the phone.”

Sholto’s breath huffed against the speaker. “Oh yes, we’re brilliant on the phone.”

John chuckled. “You have a point.” He ran a hand through his hair, steeling his nerves. He squeezed his eyes shut as he continued, "So are we through?"

"I don't want to be."

John waited for the other shoe to drop, but when it didn't he threw it down himself. "But what choice is there?"

"I don't know."

They were both silent. John scrambled through his thoughts, trying to find a solution, and God only knew what Sholto was thinking. As John's mind raced, his hands were busy straightening the items on his desktop, sorting through mail, waking up his laptop, and then shutting it.

"I know this,” Sholto said. “I do not accept this phone call as the end of our relationship."

"Good." John tucked Sholto's number back into his desk drawer as a smile pulled at his lips. "Yeah, that's-- Good."

Sholto exhaled into the receiver. "God, I want to kiss you right now."

John's eyes drifted shut, and he let his breath escape through his nose. That sounded so good. Sholto's beard against his fingertips, hands splayed across John's back, maybe even forming fists in his shirt.

John licked his lips. "Do you still have the beard?"

"No. I had to go into work today." Sholto's answer was so calm and professional; John nearly laughed out loud.

"Where are you?"

"John, you can't come to me."

"Give me some credit."

"All right." Sholto stretched each word. John could hear the skepticism, and it made him smile. "I'm in my car, on my way home."

"Yeah. And what are you wearing?"

"John," Sholto warned.

John chuckled to himself. "I just want a visual. I'm in a grey jumper and jeans. Not too titillating, right?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Well, I'm here if you want to."

"I'm not having phone sex on a government line."

"I could find a pay phone." John bit his lip. It was hard to imagine Sholto talking dirty, but it didn't hinder John's mind in coming up with images of touching himself with Sholto's voice, soft and rough, barely above a whisper in his ear.

"That's a terrible idea."

"Well, I was actually joking about the pay phone bit, and you're the one who assumed I wanted to have phone sex. Not that I would turn it down."

Through the silence that followed, John tried to imagine Sholto's face. Was he smiling? Was he turned on? How well was he driving under the circumstances?

"All right," Sholto finally croaked. John smiled.

"Look. I'm planning to think about you later, and I might like a visual."

A laugh ruffled against John's ear. "Is that so?"

John propped his feet, crossed at the ankle, on his mattress, slid down in his chair, and propped his cheek against a curled hand. "Yeah."

"Well, I suppose-- in that case, I'm in uniform."

"Oh." John grinned. "Plenty of material there. Do you have any idea how great your arse looks in fatigues?"

"I have some idea."

John chuckled, his body relaxing and his mind shutting down. “Feeling coy tonight, are we?”

Sholto mirrored John’s laughter but did not offer further response.

“What else?” John was feeling giddy, just settling into comfortable, sexy flirting and forgetting about everything else, if only for the moment. 

In fact, if this were sixteen years ago, he would have stretched the phone from the kitchen to his room and twirled the curly-q cord between his fingers. He remembered shutting himself in his room with the cord stretching to its limit. Standing in the kitchen and talking to Chase after school, before his dad got home for work, while Harry was out with her friends. He would weave the cord over and under his fingers, wrap the twists one by one over his fingers, leaving spiraling imprints on the skin. The phone calls usually started with rugby talk, but they’d go for hours, usually ending with John’s abrupt goodbye as his father unlocked the door to the flat. 

He remembered stretching a pair of headphones over both their ears and listening to cassettes on John’s bed. Laughter threatened to bubble up at any moment as they tapped their feet to the music, as they grappled over whose arm would squeeze between them, as their knees bumped, and John complained about Chase’s cold feet. Which would inevitably lead to Chase shoving his toes under John’s arse. Which would lead to John pushing Chase off his bed. Which would lead to Chase pulling John onto the floor. 

Good God, he was an idiot. He had been head over heels for that boy. 

“John.”

“What?” John jerked upright, his heels thumping the floor. “Sorry. Yeah, I-- uh-- Sorry.”

“Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. Thinking.”

“About?”

John flicked his thumb nail against the wood glue at the corner of his desk. “Nothing really.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

John shook his head, the word forming on his lips before any sound came out. “No.”

“All right.” 

The air moved over Sholto’s mic again, interrupted momentarily by a muted thud. John flicked at the wood glue, pursing his lips. Maybe he did want to talk about it. Anyone else would be too judgemental, and Harry? Well, she would be too… Harry.

As the wind shut off, Sholto said, “I’m home now. Perhaps I’ll get changed.”

“I thought we weren’t doing that over a government line.”

“John, I’m merely telling you what I’m doing. It’s bound to affect the quality of the sound.”

“Hmm,” John acknowledged incredulously. And then, spitting it out before his mind could catch up to his mouth, “Do you think it’s possible to go thirty years oblivious of your own sexual preference?”

Sholto’s breathing slowed, and after a moment, he said, “Yes.”

John waited.

“Yes?” he finally asked. “Is that all?”

“That’s my answer. Did you need me to qualify it?”

John deflated. “No.”

“What brings this up?”

John shrugged while making an I-don’t-know sound. “Just starting to think maybe Harry was right.”

“About the professor?”

“No.” He had almost forgotten. “Well, maybe.”

“I didn’t realize there was more to the discussion.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently I had a boyfriend or two that I wasn’t aware of.”

"You're exaggerating," he declared.

"Yeah, maybe… Listen, we don't need to talk abou--"

"Nonsense."

John paused, mouthed still poised to form the word it. He stood. He sat. "All right."

"Does it feel like a missed opportunity?"

John closed his eyes and searched his mind for a definitive answer. "I don't know."

"All right." Long, even breaths fluttered against John's ear. "Do you want the harsh truth, or do you want sympathy?"

John frowned in thought. "Harsh truth."

"You're not special. We all go through it. If you're not who you expected to be, it takes time to re-form your self perception. It happens when it's meant to happen, and there's no use in looking back. Don't worry. You're not special."

"Wow." A single guffaw escaped. "That was surprisingly helpful."

"I aim to please."

"You do it well."

Sholto chuckled. "I do have another question."

"Shoot."

"How old were you when Harry came out?"

"Thirteen or fourteen."

"And your parents didn't take it well."

"My dad. No."

After a silence, Sholto asked, "Would you like my opinion?"

"Why not."

"You probably were attracted to those men."

"Yeah." John ran his fingers through his hair and then ruffled up the back. "You're probably right."

"I know."

John burst into laughter, and soon, Sholto's own low, throaty laugh joined in. With a pleased sigh, John said, "Does that make you feel less special?"

A single amiable grunt. "I'm devastated."

“Well, chin up, soldier. You got plenty of other firsts with me.”

“Indeed.” Sholto’s voice dropped, rumbling against John’s ear and sending goose pimples down the side of John’s neck. And God, just the tone of it flooded him with warmth and longing.

John settled into his chair, propping his feet on his mattress. “Have you changed clothes yet?”

“No. What do you have in mind, Watson?”

“Nothing that can be done over the phone.”

Sholto grunted his agreement.

John waited, just listening to the sound of Sholto’s breath, of fabric muffling and rasping against the speaker. So, Sholto was probably changing his clothes, chest bare as he picked out a shirt, dog tags nestled in the hair against his breastbone.

John took a deep breath and held it. He didn’t want to have the necessary discussion. If the inevitable conclusion remained unsaid, then it didn’t have to exist. He couldn’t help thinking that this could be something, that is wasn’t a fling, and it wasn’t two men comforting each other during a tough time. If they were in different circumstance, if they had just waited to pursue for a few more months…

Sholto finally broke the silence with, “We should put this on pause.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning we could be out of contact for two years even without all this bullshit. So, we push pause. If, once we’re both back in country, we both want to see where it goes, we press play.”

John frowned, hopes buoyed and squashed somehow simultaneously. “Very sensible.”

“John.” Sholto cleared his throat. “Before we get off the phone, I want you to know something. I haven’t been with a military man since I was nineteen, and as a consequence, there were times when I didn’t handle the complications as I should have. And I apologize.”

John shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I care for you quite a lot, and I hope no matter the circumstances you’ll consider me a friend.”

“Yeah. Of course. Of course I will.”

“Good.” He paused. “Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye.” 

John hung up the phone and stared at it for several moments. He wished he had taken a moment to ask whether this goodbye was meant to be for good. After all, he hadn’t received his deployment orders yet. It was supposed to be soon, but you never knew with the army. He could still be here weeks or even months from now. And what then? Maybe he should call back.

After a while, John decided it wasn’t worth all the what ifs. With his luck, they’d leave early, and it would all be moot anyway. So with that non-resolution, he grabbed his kit for the shower.


	16. Poets Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you sure this is the place?" John asked as the cab pulled up to what was ostensibly the address on the napkin. But, this couldn’t be right. After getting off the motorway, they wound through a series of back roads, the last one paved with dirt. And now they were parked in front of what John could only assume was an old farm house, the cab’s headlights casting it into sharp relief.
> 
> Ivy dominated one side of the building like a monster slowly consuming it, and the stones along the ground were darkened with damp. John would have thought he had somehow crossed over into a haunted house horror film if not for the warm lamp light illuminating the front door and a few windows on the first floor. Although the way it highlighted crumbling stones and overgrown shrubbery didn’t help matters. Nor did the faded placard proclaiming it something or other. John doubted he would have been able to read it even in the daylight.

John drew figure eights in the condensation on his beer glass. It was only three more days until he left for Afghanistan, but rumors still raged around him.

_Did you hear? Sholto had an affair with someone in his chain of command. I heard they had sex in the barracks. I bet he promised her a promotion. Nah, they just like the danger. It’s more exciting when you can get in trouble._

In fact, just that evening, John had lectured a group of privates in the barracks lounge about sullying someone’s good name for their own entertainment. And now, hours later, he still wondered if that was the right thing to do. If any one of them suspected that Sholto was gay, John had just invited trouble, and even though John would be able to get away from most of it in just a few days, Sholto would be stuck defending himself without any support.

But all the same, he had to see Sholto before he left. It had been over two weeks since that had so much as spoken with each other and almost a month since they had touched. And John’s skin was crawling. To say he was restless would have been an understatement of the highest order. He longed for the familiar comfort of Sholto’s touch, of his voice. God, they had had--what--three sexual encounters? Was it really that few? And yet, John was strung out, like an addict jonesing for a fix.

He ran a hand over his face and gulped his beer, savoring the pain in his throat around a too-large swallow. John had to snap out of it. He had never pined this much over a girl. It was pathetic.

“From the man in the booth,” came the voice of the barman.

Snapped out of his self-execrating reverie, John eyed the frosty beer in front of him. “Who?”

The barman pointed. “Over there.”

Over there was Sholto, resolutely ignoring John in favor of reading a book, twirling a pen between his fingers. He sat in the same booth, just as he had the night John went home with him. John licked his lips, remembering how well their bodies fit together, how comfortable it was sleeping next to each other. Then he tore his eyes away, sipping at the ice-cold beer, smooth and stout.

But then, as he went to put down the glass, he spotted words bleeding in blue.

“All right, Captain?”

John huffed a single laugh. If ever Sholto could be defined in just one item, this would be it.

John patted the napkin dry with his palm and then used his thumb to smooth out the edges. As he sipped at the offering, he pondered what to do with it. To be honest, he wanted to stride over to that booth and snog Sholto senseless. Hell, he’d even get down on his knees on the scuzzy toilet floor. But those were probably ill advised.

So, something with some subtlety that might result in a similar outcome. Subtlety was not exactly John’s forte, but he’d give it a shot. He waved to the barman.

“Glen Livet eighteen, please. Over to the man in the booth.”

As the barman set to work, John snatched a napkin and a pen from the bartop. On the napkin, he wrote, “I leave in 3 days. Can I see you?”

Then, he flagged down the barman again, adding the napkin to his order. And then, all there was to do was wait.

He sipped at his beer, already half empty of its liquid courage, and watched the movements of the patrons to his back in the mirror behind the bar. Although it was a Friday night, the hour was early enough that the bar wasn’t crowded. A group of ten that appeared to be gearing up for a big night comprised the vast majority of the noise. Based on their focus on one particular partygoer, John guessed it was a stag do or maybe a birthday party.

One of them accosted a petite blonde as she left the toilets, gesturing between her and the guest of honor. She shook her head and took a step away, but he grabbed her arm. Oh, hell no.

His heart rate already accelerated from a mixture of anger and excitement, he spun on the stool and dismounted in one explosive motion. He marched over to the struggling man and woman. She was starting to look truly distressed, and John was seeing red. He clasped his hand over the man’s wrist. Shaggy hair, so probably not military. Good.

“I suggest you let go,” John said, his voice low and calm and dangerous, “unless you want a bloody nose.”

“Don’t get in a paddy, mate. We’re just having some fun.”

John scoffed, smiled, ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “She look like she’s having fun?”

At that, the girl ripped her arm away and rubbed at her wrist, her eyes flaring.

“What, this bint--”

The man’s words were cut off as the girl’s fist smashed right into the bridge of his nose. As the man’s head snapped back, John heard a crack, and a laugh burst up from his gut. The girl shook out her hand as she walked away. When the man came up, blood was pouring from his nose.

John shrugged. “I warned you.”

“Oi,” John heard behind him. “You!”

Oh, good god, here came the bouncer. John rolled his eyes as he turned around.

“That’s it. You’re banned for life. Settle your bill and get out.” To John’s surprise, the bouncer was talking to the man with the bleeding nose. While he cracked up, John took the opportunity to sneak away before the bouncer had a chance to recognize him.

But, when he turned around, Sholto was gone. All that were left were an empty glass and a book.

Well, it was a risk. He couldn’t blame Sholto. They were still too open to speculation, and to be fair, they had agreed to wait until their next deployments were up. Still, Sholto would surely regret leaving his book behind. He could put it in the post. And if a letter happened to be tucked inside, well, he couldn’t keep track of every piece of paper in the barracks.

John swept the book off the table as he absentmindedly swept up a drop of scotch with his forefinger and licked it off. _Invitation to a Beheading_ in a tattered paperback. Curiouser and curiouser. Sholto’s taste in books was more enigmatic than the man himself, if that was even possible. John had never even heard of this one before, let alone knew what it was about.

He peeked at the back blurb and flipped through the pages. When he reached the end, the back cover caught against his thumb, where he found a napkin. On it was written an address, and that was all. His heart skipped a beat as an involuntary grin spread on his face. He wasn’t sure what it was meant to mean, but he would be damned if he didn’t go straight there. Tucking the book under his arm, he hurried to the bar, paid his tab, and swept his coat over his shoulders. Off to adventure.

***

"Are you sure this is the place?" John asked as the cab pulled up to what was ostensibly the address on the napkin. But, this couldn’t be right. After getting off the motorway, they wound through a series of back roads, the last one paved with dirt. And now they were parked in front of what John could only assume was an old farm house, the cab’s headlights casting it into sharp relief.

Ivy dominated one side of the building like a monster slowly consuming it, and the stones along the ground were darkened with damp. John would have thought he had somehow crossed over into a haunted house horror film if not for the warm lamp light illuminating the front door and a few windows on the first floor. Although the way it highlighted crumbling stones and overgrown shrubbery didn’t help matters. Nor did the faded placard proclaiming it something or other. John doubted he would have been able to read it even in the daylight. 

“Yes, I’m sure. Now pay the fare and get out. I’m not waiting here forever.”

“God,” John blurted, pulling out his wallet. “Yeah. Here.”

He stepped out of the cab and slammed the door behind him, eyeing the door as the cabbie pulled away. God, he hoped this was the right place. Otherwise, he might have some awkward explaining to do that would hopefully allow him to stay in a warm house while he waited for another taxi. _Oh, hello. Sorry, this is the wrong place. Do you happen to know of something nearby where one would go for a secret tryst?_

John chuckled at the thought as he pulled up his collar to shield from the wind. With any luck Sholto would be waiting in there for him. Relishing the mental picture of a smiling, relaxed Sholto bathed in the warm glow of lamplight, John strode across the front path to the front door.

He paused at the front, unsure whether to knock or walk in, but before he could even contemplate making a decision, the door opened. Behind it, John found not Sholto, but an old woman in stocking feet, khaki trousers, and a baggy embroidered shirt, with her long white hair in a braid pulled over her shoulder.

She winked at him. “I’ve been expecting you.”

John’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “Have you.”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped into the doorframe and patted John on the back. “Now come in. We don’t want let in all the cold air.”

John did as he was told, stomping his boots on the welcome mat--declaring this place a bed and breakfast--to knock off the mud accumulated from the front drive.

The woman closed the front door behind him. “If you would, please leave your shoes by the door. We don’t want to go tracking mud everywhere, do we?”

“Course not,” John said as he toed off the boots and put them next to a similar, larger pair.

“Thank you, love. Now, you’ll be wanting to go up these stairs behind me, and it’ll be the first room on your left. Breakfast is served from six to eight, no later, and we serve tea and coffee with a few things to nibble from three to four. Though--” she winked “--I doubt you boys will be staying ‘til then.”

“I-- all right,” John stammered and then climbed the stairs, a bit flummoxed by their little dialogue. But, he was so flooded with thoughts and emotions, the blood rushing in his ears muting everything else, that her words immediately blurred in his memory. His feet kept moving, slow and steady up the stairs, turning left, and going still in front of Sholto’s door.

This time, he knocked.

He bounced on his toes as he listened to the locks disengage, and then Sholto was there, his haircut high and tight, face covered in sandpaper stubble, the top button of his shirt undone. The tension in John’s shoulders released, and he felt a grin pulling inexorably at the corners of his mouth and eyes. 

Sholto grinned back at him.

John rolled up on his toes and offered, “You forgot your book.”

“I’m glad you found it,” Sholto replied with a wink. And then he poked his head through the doorway, checking up and down the hall before grabbing John’s hand and yanking him through the door.

John stumbled into the room, teetering past Sholto. He shucked his coat as Sholto shut the door. The room was surprisingly sleek, floral prints and crappy landscapes nowhere to be seen. It was small, dominated by a double bed covered in slate grey sheets and aubergine bedspread.

Turning, John nodded, his chin pushed up and out. “Nice.”

John finally looked over at Sholto to find him rushing across the room. His hands came up to John’s face, latching on before Sholto dove in. He made no pretense, going straight for the kill. His lips pressed hard to John’s, tongue seeking, teeth tugging at John’s bottom lip.

John laughed, surprised and delighted.

Sholto pulled back, his hands still pressed to John’s cheeks, his fingers tickling John’s scalp, and his brows knit themselves into a unibrow.

John wrapped his hand around the back of Sholto’s neck and tugged. “C’mon. Don’t stop.”

Sholto obliged, curling over John’s body. His lips met John’s, and he nibbled at John’s upper lip before seeking John’s tongue with his own. Sholto’s stubble scratched against John’s chin, sending sympathetic sensation down his neck, chest, straight into his groin, and he hummed against Sholto’s mouth. Which made Sholto growl and wrap his arms around John’s back, yanking them together.

Oh, yes. This was what he loved about kissing Sholto. John felt engulfed, unbound, weak in the knees even. The hard, rough style turned him on like nothing else. Sholto knew what he wanted, and he took it. And John was more than happy to give it to him.

Sholto broke the kiss for a breath, and John took the opportunity to rub his cheek against Sholto’s, letting the rough sensation of stubble against stubble fizzle under his skin. Let it fuel images of Sholto kissing down his abdomen, pressing his face to John’s testicles, the stubble on his chin scritching against John’s perineum.

John nuzzled his nose against Sholto’s ear, let his open lips graze the point where jaw met neck.

“I missed you,” he sighed, and Sholto’s arms tightened, his face dropping to John’s shoulder. He mouthed along John’s shirt collar, finding the inside of a clavicular notch and grazing teeth against it, as a whimpering sound of agreement rippled through him.

John laid his hand over the base of Sholto’s skull, caressing the velvet nap of the hair on the back of his head, pressing a kiss to the lobe of his ear. His other hand gripped the back of Sholto’s shirt as Sholto pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Sholto’s tongue swept and circled, wet and messy, and John could feel his pulse against it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” John said, tugging Sholto’s shirt from his trousers. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted you?”

With a growl of, “Yes,” on his lips, Sholto attacked John’s shirt buttons, closing the nearly non-existent space between them. His knuckles pressed against John’s chest, and John had no choice but to walk backwards. Sholto’s fingers flying and John’s hand tugging and exploring, it was mere moments before the backs of John’s thighs hit the mattress, and he pulled Sholto down with him.

Not one to waste an opportunity, John used Sholto’s imbalance to push him onto his back, and before Sholto could properly react, John pounced. He straddled Sholto’s hips and dove down, pressing their mouths together, his tongue tracing and probing Sholto’s surprised lips.

This time, it was Sholto’s turn to laugh, raising his head from the mattress and wrapping his hands over John’s hips. John smiled even as his mouth opened to Sholto’s insistent intent, and his own laughter bubbled to the surface. But as he pressed his hips down and tilted them back in search of the erection answering his own, their laughter cut short, interrupted by gasps and groans. John rocked his hips, relishing the rough friction of denim against denim, of Sholto’s cock twitching and the way the movement morphed the pressure against John’s.

At this, Sholto’s hands flew to John’s arse cheeks. His breath came in pants against John’s mouth and nose, pants that John returned, too focused on the cock against his and the hands spreading his cheeks to do much else. Sholto’s feet slid uselessly against the carpet, never giving him enough traction to meet John’s thrusts with the fervor he wanted. But that was fine with John. This was so fucking perfect. Shared breath. Heat pooling in his groin. Sholto’s mouth open, his eyelids drooping.

John closed his eyes, letting his hips go where they may, pressing forward against Sholto’s cock and back against his fingers. Trapped between them. Trapped in Sholto’s overwhelming embrace.

“Oh God,” John groaned. “Christ, James. You feel so good.”

Blindly, John’s fingers found the loose hem of Sholto’s shirt and slipped under, tracing toned abdominal muscles then sliding up. John’s arms trapped themselves within the confines of Sholto’s shirt so that his forearms pressed against Sholto’s abdomen as his fingers sought higher. Finally, the fingers found what they were looking for. Small nubs of contracted, erect flesh tickled against his fingertips, his palm. John rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, his hips moving erratically with his split focus, and Sholto arched beneath him.

“John,” he huffed, pressing John’s arse down and forward, easing him back into a rhythm.

John took that moment to realize that he had never explored this part of Sholto’s body as much as he would like, and that just would not stand. He tore his hands from the inside of Sholto’s shirt and set them to work on the buttons instead. Too slowly, the plackets parted, revealing soft blond curls against tanned skin. And John couldn’t wait for them to fall aside before he dove down, his hips tilting back into Sholto’s hands still guiding their rhythm.

As he kissed newly revealed skin, John felt stubble scrub against his crown, and he smiled, certain that Sholto was watching. He tilted up his hips and pressed his abdomen down, presenting arse to Sholto’s view and pressing their cocks tighter together at the same time. A shiver ran through John as his cock throbbed, and he delighted in the sound of Sholto groaning, the ruffle of fast breaths against his scalp.

“Fuck.” John tossed aside the flaps of Sholto’s shirt, the last button finally dispatched. He sat up, running his fingertips over the soft curls on Sholto’s chest, enjoying the sight of Sholto’s bare chest heaving, his ruffled hair, his eyes staring back at John. Thin rims of pale blue peeking out from underneath hooded eyelids, long blond eyelashes. The hands on John’s hips pressed him down and forward, the sound of rasping denim and heavy breaths loud in the otherwise silent room.

“God,” John gruffed. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. I just want to--”

John was cut off as Sholto surged up, capturing John’s mouth and making words impossible. John faltered. He tipped backwards, losing his balance and threatening to fall off the bed, but Sholto caught him, one hand on the small of John’s back, the other at the base of his neck.

Fuck, there were too many clothes. They felt stifling and itchy while all he wanted was the smooth glide of skin on skin. So, he ripped his own shirt from his shoulders and thrust his hands between them to get at Sholto’s flies. And as he worked them open, popping free the top button and pulling apart the zip, Sholto groaned. His hips canted. His arse rocked back and forth on the mattress, making the fabric of the blanket bunch at John’s knees.

Finally--finally--John was able to reach past the waistband of Sholto’s pants to get to the hot flesh underneath. To feel the silken slide of his foreskin against the shaft. To gather precome with his thumb before it absorbed into grey cotton. He ran the pad of his thumb over the slit before wrapping his hand around to feel the spongy head against his palm.

Echoes of the weight of it on John’s tongue, the way its wetness streaked on John’s belly, how it felt gliding and pulsing against his prostate, flitted through his mind, and he couldn’t decide what he wanted first. He shuddered, breaking their kiss with a broken moan.

And then he was on his back, Sholto’s weight pressed against him and his lips crushed. Just as suddenly, Sholto slid backwards, working at the flies of John’s jeans. He hooked his hands over pants and trousers at the crest of John’s hipbones and pulled them down, nearly taking John with them.

As the startlement of the sudden movement waned, John broke into giggles.

“Shut up,” Sholto replied, his voice stern but a wink of whimsy in his eye.

As Sholto mounted the bed, shedding clothes as he went, John scooted himself up to the pillows, letting his legs fall open in invitation. John watched the ripple of Sholto’s arm and shoulders muscles as he closed the scant distance between them, the blood thrumming through John’s veins, his thighs trembling. His cock throbbed with anticipation.

Sholto dipped his face to John’s groin, ghosting a breath over John’s cock. But instead of settling there, Sholto wrapped his arms tight over John’s thighs and yanked him down the bed.

John barked in surprise as his back slid off the pillows and thumped flat on the mattress. But then Sholto settled his weight over John, their cocks nestled between each other’s body, Sholto’s breath hot and humid on John’s mouth. Sholto held his head just a centimetre from John’s lips, letting them share breath as he rocked against John.

John licked his lips. He hooked his feet over calves. His back arched as Sholto’s cock slid against his lower abdomen, his own cock echoing the motion. He gripped Sholto’s biceps, unable to regain his self control, losing himself in the motion, in the feeling of Sholto’s breath and lips and tongue on his neck.

“Please,” John huffed. “Oh God, please tell me you have something.”

Sholto grazed his teeth against John’s adam’s apple before popping up his head and replying, “In my coat.”

Sholto sat back on his knees, planting his hands by them to launch himself off the bed. As Sholto went for his coat, John pillowed his head in his hands, enjoying the view. His arse was downright spectacular, muscular and succulent. And the way it flexed when Sholto walked and the little peek of cock and balls as he leaned over for his coat at the foot of the bed. God. John just wanted to bite it.

So, before Sholto could bring himself upright, John scooted down the bed, trapping Sholto between his thighs. Sholto stood up, lube and condom in hand, but when he tried to turn around, John grabbed him by the hips.

He had to stoop a bit to get to Sholto’s arse with his mouth, but God, was it worth it. First, he breathed against the dip of Sholto’s spine, watching goosebumps spreading along Sholto’s lower back, feeling them raise under his palms. He pressed kisses to the dimples at the top of both buttocks. Finally, he dipped down, pressing teeth to flesh and sucking.

“God,” Sholto huffed, and John thrilled to it, tugging Sholto closer, a smile playing on his lips.

He tasted Sholto’s skin, salty and soapy, with a wide swath of his tongue and broke off with a loud smacking sound. Two arcs of teeth marked Sholto’s red, wet skin, and John just had to touch, his hips surging forward, sliding his cock over the soft cotton of the bedspread. He traced the marks with a fingertip, his saliva easing the way.

Oh, it was glorious. He was pretty certain that the bite wouldn’t leave a lasting mark, but the way it looked in that moment drove John mad with lust. His hips pressed toward the mattress. Soft moans escaped his mouth. His vision turned hazy. He pressed his palm against the bite, thrilling at the way Sholto pushed back against it.

Just as John was about to dive in again, make sure the next mark would last, Sholto spun on him. John glanced up at that moment and shuddered at the dark, dangerous look in Sholto’s eyes.

“Scoot back,” Sholto commanded, his voice quiet and rough with arousal.

John pressed his heels against the foot of the bed, pushing himself back on the mattress. Sholto’s knees came up, crawling after John. His look was predatory, feral, and John prayed that what came next would live up to the anticipation. Because his body was taut; his cock ached; his arse felt sensitized, every movement zinging up his spine with suggestions of what was to come.

Finally, Sholto settled between John’s legs. He sat back on his knees, his eyes raking over John’s body, and John squirmed, his skin alive as if Sholto’s gaze physically touched him. He pressed his heels into Sholto’s buttocks, urging him closer, but Sholto did not acquiesce.

Instead, he set aside the condom and squirted lube onto his fingers. He spread it between John’s cheeks, and John quivered, his feet sliding, his hips canting. Then, Sholto added more lube to his hand, and as he reached for John’s arse with it, his other arm flew up, knocking John’s knees together and then pushing them back with his forearm until John’s hips left the bed.

“Oh, God yes,” John growled as Sholto’s finger slid home, the pad of his finger sliding over John’s prostate. “Fuck.”

John pulled his knees back, rocked his hips up, guiding Sholto’s finger towards John’s prostate as it thrust in and out. Despite most of his body being hidden by his legs, John felt vulnerable, exposed. The stretch in his legs was just a bit too much, Sholto’s arm pushing his knees a little too hard. It was magnificent. He couldn’t even notice what any other part of Sholto’s body was doing. John was too lost in the contact, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands restless. 

His hands scrabbled at the bed, gripping blankets and sheets and pillows and headboard. And all the while, Sholto’s fingers thrusted and John’s body rocked. His cock throbbed. Heat filled his lower abdomen, growing stronger by the second. His muscles tensed. His balls drew up tight to his body. His eyes flew open.

“Wait!” His hand flew to Sholto’s wrist. “Hang on, hang on,” he panted.

“All right, John?”

John couldn’t answer right away, too busy fighting the impetus of his hips, too busy concentrating on anything but the pressure inside him, anything but the fingers resting against his prostate. His pelvic floor muscles contracted involuntarily, and his whole body convulsed in on itself, a desperate groan wrenching from his mouth.

“God, John. Do you have any idea how you look right now?”

John panted.

Sholto slid his fingers from John’s body, and John couldn’t help the desperate whine that escaped. As Sholto eased John’s fingers from his wrist, John snapped out of his distress enough to release his vice grip on Sholto and the headboard. But his body still keened for attention.

So, he gathered all the patience he could, letting his legs fall open, letting his hips rest against the bed as he watched Sholto roll on a condom and spread lube on it. John’s eyes fell closed, and he slowly released his breath as he waited for the pressure of Sholto’s glans against his hole.

But instead, Sholo spread his hands over John’s thighs, sliding them outward, pushing John’s knees to the mattress. Still, John’s hips tried to thrust, and he gripped the headboard, concentrating on the dig of his fingertips into smooth wood.

“Do you want to try it out on top?” came Sholto’s voice.

John’s eyes flew open. “I would stand on my head and balance a ball on my pinky toe if it meant we were fucking.”

Even as he dashed to one side, throwing John’s knee out of the way, Sholto chuckled.

John came up to his knees and watched as Sholto settled on his back. Even with his body strung out and desperate, John was so distracted by Sholto’s body lain out for him, by his cock jutting from his body, that it took Sholto’s hand wrapping around his hip and nudging him closer for John to make a move.

John straddled Sholto’s hips, slowly sinking down until he felt Sholto’s cock slide between his cheeks. His mouth fell open, his breath escaping in a rush. And finally, Sholto reached between them, helping them align themselves, and his other hand held onto John’s hip, guiding him down.

As John sank down on Sholto’s cock, a long groan escaped, only ending when his arse settled on Sholto’s groin, and he could tip his hips, pressing Sholto’s glans to his prostate.

Sholto’s fingers pulsed at John’s hips, and his feet slid restlessly against the mattress. His head was thrown back and to the side, his eyes wrenched shut, his mouth slack and panting. John tilted his hips, making himself shudder, but Sholto cried out, broken and desperate, and John just had to kiss him.

He grabbed Sholto’s chin, turning his face up as John dove down. The kiss was hard, wet, and messy. And uncoordinated tangle of lips and tongue to match the wild rocking of their bodies. John’s heart raced, and his nostrils refused to pull in enough air. But there was no way he was breaking that kiss. Not when the bed squeaked violently below them, when the headboard thumped against the wall. Not when their bodies were moving in tandem even through desperation and urgency. Not when every inch of his skin was alive with sensation. Not when John was nearing the precipice, ready for Sholto to catch him.

“I’m so close, John. Are you close?”

John could only groan in response, too lost in his body to form coherent speech. He grinded down on Sholto’s pelvis, pressing his hips forward and circling them, the pressure on his prostate intense and hot, bordering on painful, but he couldn’t stop. He just wanted more.

Sholto reached for John’s cock, but he batted it away. It was too much, too sensitive. Even the pressure and slap of his balls on Sholto’s body, even the push and slide of Sholto’s abdomen against the base of John’s cock felt overwhelming. He couldn’t take anything else distracting from the way Sholto’s cock felt, the tension growing deep in his body ready to snap.

“Fuck,” Sholto groaned, snapping his hips up against John, making stars spark behind John’s eyes. “I can’t-- I can’t wait any longer.”

And with that, Sholto shuddered, his hips pressing hard against John’s body, his hands squeezing John’s hips. Sholto’s cock spasmed and throbbed inside John, and when John felt an intense rush of heat, the dam broke. His eyes wrenched shut, and his body hunched in on itself, unable to so much as take a breath through it. His hands clapped around Sholto’s forearms, holding on for dear life as he rode the tidal waves of his orgasm until finally, his body relaxed and a long sigh floated from him.

“Wow,” John breathed, unable to even verify that Sholto had a grip on the condom before collapsing to the side. He closed his eyes, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Sholto reached for John’s hand, and he squeezed it.

After a moment with their hands clasped together and their breathing slowly returning to normal, Sholto rolled away with a promise of, “Two seconds.”

John nodded and took a deep, relaxing breath. He felt like he was floating, like he was drifting in an untethered raft. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this relaxed.

***

“What?”

John lifted his head, eyes bleary and dry. He blinked several times, licking along his teeth to detach them from his dry cheeks. He shifted in the bed. Clearly, he was still naked, but he was covered in bedclothes, a warm body behind him and a hand resting on his hip.

How long had he slept? Pale light illuminated the window curtains, but that wasn’t a reliable indication. He had no idea which way the window was facing, and he also didn’t see a clock. To top that off, when he went to check his wrist, he remembered that he had forgotten his own watch at home.

Oh well, it wasn’t that important. So, he rolled to his back, propped up on his elbows, to look at Sholto. Who snorted. And John couldn’t help but chuckle, his laughter shaking the hand that was now settled on his thigh.

Sholto grumbled and shifted, throwing his arm tight over John’s waist and pulling himself closer.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” John whispered in return.

“You fell asleep.”

John smiled. “I gathered.”

A returning smile quirked on Sholto’s sleepy face. He squeezed John’s hip. “Go get breakfast.”

“Hmm.” John shuffled down until he could he could rest his face against Sholto’s neck, breathing in the musky smell of sex and sleep. “Why should I?”

Sholto’s palm skated up and down John’s back. “Excellent point.”

As Sholto brought his arm up to rest against John’s thigh, John placed his fingertips on Sholto’s wrist, trailing them up the inside of his forearm, around the elbow, tracing the curvature of his tricep and bicep, and running them back down.

Sholto hummed. “Do you want to stay another night?”

John slid his hand between Sholto’s hand and his own thigh. “I’m not finished packing.”

“I hope you’ve started.”

“Yeah.” But packing for deployment took a long fucking time. He sighed. He swallowed hard. “So, I’ll see you in two years?”

Sholto gathered John into his arms and propped his chin over the top of John’s head. “Count on it.”

John poked Sholto’s chest. “You’d better write to me.”

“Ditto.”

John pressed his face tighter in the nook of Sholto’s body, breathing him in, memorizing his scent, how he felt. The way John fit so perfectly in the crook of Sholto’s neck and shoulder. The soft underbelly and sense of humor that only he got to see. Knowing the secret that someone so stoic could care so much. But there was still so much that he didn’t know. So much that he wanted to learn.

Words pressed against the back of his throat. Words that had wanted to come out since before they left for London. Words he should have said before Sholto went home. Words that were terrible to say to someone right before you left him for who-knows-how-long. He couldn’t do that to someone he loved.

So he left them.

Maybe someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who stuck with this for the past year. I hope you have found it worth it.
> 
> Thank you also to emmagrant01 for sticking with me for a year. This started out as a 4,000 word piece of crap, guys. She's not afraid to whip me into shape, and for that, I am very grateful.
> 
> I do want to say that this fic has surprised me in that I found it very therapeutic. I also "discovered" my bisexuality late in life. Actually, just last year, a friend of mine (on whom I also happen to be crushing) said, just casually like it was obvious, "You're a bisexual woman... (etc.)." And I was like, what? Am I? But then I thought about it, and I was like, "What the hell? I'm an idiot."
> 
> I had my first crush on a girl when I was 6 years old, but it took me 26 more years to realize it. So, many thanks to Sholto for his words of wisdom. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [emmagrant01](http://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/) for the beta.
> 
> The title is a translation of Quo Fata Vocant, the motto of the Fifth Northumberland Fusilliers.
> 
> Illegitimus non carborundum is a bastardized Latin phrase meaning, "Don't let the bastards grind you down."
> 
> These are military men, so expect some cursing.


End file.
